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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30097512">Compelled</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pen_Pearls/pseuds/Pen_Pearls'>Pen_Pearls</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Vampire Diaries (TV), Twilight Series - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Action &amp; Romance, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Assassins &amp; Hitmen, Confessions, Crimes &amp; Criminals, F/M, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 11:21:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>22,958</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30097512</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pen_Pearls/pseuds/Pen_Pearls</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When heartless assassin Damon Salvator is contracted to murder a lone young woman from Forks, Washington he assumes the job will be straightforward. Their first encounter proves otherwise. Not only does she get away with ease, but he can’t bring himself to terminate his target. It doesn’t help that she keeps claiming to be his soulmate either.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Damon Salvator/Leah Clearwater, Embry Call/Brady Fuller, Jacob Black/Renesmee Cullen, Stephen Salvator/Rebekah Michaelson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Target</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Agent: Damon Salvator.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Alias: Raven.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Age: Unknown, approx. 30.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Location: Los Angeles, California.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Status: Active.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Last Official Statement: …</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I've been watching her for weeks.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Leah Clearwater (26) is a small town girl from a Quileute Reservation in Forks, Washington. She's… promising. Up and coming, an innovative sculptor and possible arts master in the making. Considering that she worked her way up from broke, irrelevant bartender to noteworthy independent artist after abandoning her safe hometown for the vibrant streets of Los Angeles… I'll admit I'm a little impressed. After I kill her she'll be survived by her mother, brother, grandmother and second cousin.</em>
</p><p><em>I don't usually feel pity for my kills but… the poor thing is just </em>begging<em> for me to put her out of her misery. She's got it all, Klaus. She should be happy.</em></p><p>
  <em>But her file is so… depressing.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She ran away to the bright lights of the big city, but she didn’t really get to the fun ‘moving on’ part of existence. She's got a therapist she doesn't talk to, a dying parent she avoids, and no friends at all. Not to mention her online search histories and feeble attempts at dating indicate that she's still pining over her childhood ex - some unmemorable cop she caught screwing her cousin just a few days after announcing her own engagement to the bastard. Her bridesmaid speech for his wedding? Fucking hilarious. But you know how those revenge plots go… The blowback’s never worth it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>She's… alone.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I don't see why we need silver bullets, but if the client must insist.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>We'll keep this one simple. Have the money ready for deposit by Monday.</em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <em>(Damon)</em>
</p><hr/><p>In your line of work remorse, apprehension and other related indications of conscience are an occupational hazard. Hitmen get killed for thinking twice. Get killed for hesitating. So you don't get flustered, you never leave a mark alive and you <em>never</em> let yourself think about what you're forcing the Leah Clearwaters of this cold, cruel world to leave behind when they die.</p><p>The other little things you tell Klaus… the hints you're careful to plant when you talk about your targets –- that you consider her miserable and lonely. That you consider her talented. That you <em>consider</em> her - those are the performance. Better for Klaus to think that you're morally ambiguous but secretly romantic. Rather he believes that there remains in you some semblance of humanity to exploit. Better he never realize just how inhumanly cold his little soldier has become.</p><p>They call you the best in the field. The Raven Prince of Darkness. There's a reason. Politicians, security agencies, terrorists, multi-billion dollar conglomerates and other unnamed third parties request you by name because outside the elegant white room in which you smile and discuss marks like you have any kind of respect for human life, your flawless reputation and cunning become you. The <em>up aboves</em> give you the toughest targets, and like Stephen, you're equipped to handle them. You're trusted to take care of the problems because they're too difficult an equation for anyone else.</p><p>This is why you <em>know</em> that something's off about the girl.</p><p>She's beautiful, almost impossibly beautiful. Her copper skin is immaculate, her lips a shade of wine so daring you can’t actually believe they’re real, and with cheekbones like that you reckon even the sun gets jealous sometimes. This is why you pause. During surveillance, it crossed your mind that she's too gamine. Like she's hiding - hell bent on not drawing attention to herself when any other woman in her position would use that beauty as a tool to further her objectives. She hides and when that doesn't work, she snarls, she barks. She's so… aggressively isolated.</p><p>Something's wrong about it.</p><p>This is the reason you haven't yet sniped her. The reason you give Klaus when he asks you why she's still alive. You're not quite sure what the answer is, but that doesn't matter. The pause is enough that you're torn about how to approach her impending demise. It's not like you to hesitate. You <em>never</em> hesitate. Hitmen who hesitate tend to die.</p><p>And yet…</p><p>Something about her is so… familiar.</p><p>She's mercurial, nocturnal and mysterious. Imperturbable. Distrustful. Why? Bar the two phone calls she makes each month to her sibling it seems she has no who cares about her, no one she lets herself care too much about. There's something about this tragic shield of lonesomeness that haunts you, something unnervingly familiar about her self-imposed solitary confinement.</p><p>You force this thought away as you remove your assigned pistol from its case. You consider the alternative should you fail: you don't care that Stephen will be assigned to ripper her in your place. But you're wanted, and you hate the bloody trail his style of massacre leaves for the authorities to find. So you repeat the mantra you've been using for years. "Two to the heart. One to the head."</p><p>You cock your gun and enter your black Lamborghini.</p><p>So what if you're a fucking cliché. At least your method's tried and tested.</p><p>.</p><hr/><p>.</p><p>You watch her sigh, watch her push the wayward strands of dark hair out of her face.</p><p><em>She</em>, you think, <em>she could be a Queen in the Shadows.</em></p><p>It's common for her to work this late. She's often hit by bouts of inspiration after nine p.m. With only four weeks to go before her first major solo exhibition it's no wonder she looks dead on her feet, pun intended. She growls. The rumble of the sounds surprises you, but when she grabs the nearest slab of glass and flings it against the wall, shattering it into a million sparkling shards of blue and gold, you don’t bat an eyelash. By now, you understand the inner workings of your target just as well as she understands herself. She's prone to such displays of aggression when she's alone, when she doesn't know she's being watched.</p><p>"There's too much wolf in the brows - not enough sun," she grumbles as her fingers knead into the bust of the tall, grey man she's building. Not for the first time that week you wonder what she's on about.</p><p>"Great Spirit help me," she continues rambling, her surprisingly deep voice soft as she murmurs to herself. As she works her way into the captivating sculpture. You're not religious, not really. But you can appreciate the sentiment.</p><p>You switch off the live screen in your car and walk the hundred and two meters to her studio apartment. It's colder than usual this autumn and the leather jacket's not doing much for comfort. You hunch your shoulders subtly and blow hot air into your palms, covering your mouth with your hands and shielding half of your face from two street camera's in a gesture so subtle most civilians won’t second guess it. You notice that the streets are quieter than usual this Saturday - most everyone in the area has opted for indoor activities and relatively few grace the bars and clubs for pleasure. You curse. Fuck meddlesome clients and their silver bullets and their strange guns that can’t be silenced. The quietude will work against you once the target’s been snuffed.</p><p>Her apartment is unlocked, cloaked in darkness, and disconcertingly silent.</p><p>You move quickly and stealthily. Katherine always says you move like something supernatural, so you know the Clearwater girl can’t know you’re there yet. She stands there with her headphones blaring, the sound of Coldplay so loud you can hear the thrum from across the space, and this you think, is the perfect time to kill her. Two to the heart, one to the head. And that’s when it happens. On an inhalation her body tenses.</p><p>You’re not sure what gives you away.</p><p>But you know that she knows you’re there.</p><p>She knows <em>why</em> you’re there.</p><p>It’s almost like you can feel her feel you. You don't know how she know this. She has her back to you, and the serious grey eyes of her work-in-progress stare at you in accusation while she continues working her long fingers over the artwork, while she tilts her head this way and that to focus. Not for the first time you observe the strange tension in the way she holds herself. The yawn in her muscles, as though she's a metal coil stretched out too far for comfort -  ready for a violent snap back.</p><p>"I'm only going to say this once." Clearwater growls, and the hairs at the back of your neck stand to attention at the coldhearted tone. "<em>Leave</em>."</p><p>Something about the way she says that <em>orders</em> you to go. And you would but… there's something more, something else. A stronger, foreign urge compels you to step closer instead. You oblige it, not like you have a choice really it’s so overpowering. And that's when you notice her scent. The heat of the sun. The essence of rainwater and wet earth. Ocean salt and rosemary and… something wild. Something familiar.</p><p>Why is it so <em>familiar</em>?</p><p>"Look at me." You instruct her.</p><p>You don't know why you need her to do it so badly, but she must. <em>This</em> is something she is <em>supposed</em> to do, even if you don’t know why. A little voice in your head, logic probably, tells you to raise your gun and finish this quickly Damon. Hitmen don’t hesitate. But there's something… <em>something </em>about her that you need to see. Something about her eyes, those dark orbs of loneliness and midnight that you got lost in the first time you saw her picture in a file. There's a reason, you know there is, there’s a reason something's been feeling <em>off</em> about her file for a while.</p><p>You don't know why she turns. She doesn't seem the type who likes being ordered around by anybody, and there's no reason for her to do as you say simply because it's one of your whims. You notice the way she takes in your suave black clothing; the way her eyes linger on the family ring on middle finger of your left hand. Your heart hammers when she notices the scar on your neck, and for a moment you swear she feels it too, the unnatural heat and sense of rightness that fills the room with every step she takes closer to you. And then she looks into your eyes and –</p><p>"DAMN IT!" she yells.</p><p>You get flashes then. An image of foamy blue water, and the taste of the ocean. There’s an irresistible voice echoing in your head, drowning out your thoughts. Sam you think, and you feel so much grief it physically hurts. But then the power of it is suddenly gone, replaced just as quickly by a flood of happiness. The joy’s so overwhelming you drop to your knees. You feel something in your chest break right open and you fight to keep from going under. Your mind grapples to keep your sanity intact, to keep your identity what it is. But even as you wage this war you know you have already lost. What you feel is so pure and so innocent that it startles you. You haven't felt anything like it since... It doesn't matter. Nothing else matters. You can't kill her. You <em>can't</em> kill her. It'll be like killing yourself.</p><p>The moment you blink both you and the Clearwater girl snap back to the present. Her eyes widen, and only then does she seem to realize how close she's gotten to you. You want to touch her. You want her to touch you. The anticipation is wringing out your flesh and skin, choking you. It is a strange sensation, and it makes no sense. Stranger, you see the bewilderment and horror you feel reflected in her dark, perfect eyes the color of darkness.</p><p>She smiles at you. It is a sad, broken smile. "Of course it'll be the man who comes to kill me." She says in defeat.</p><p>She hits you in the face faster than you can blink, and it feels like you've been hit by a brick. Blacking out, you think, is an easy enough punishment for attempting to murder her.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Compromised</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Agent: Katherine Pierce.</em>
</p><p><em>Alias: </em> <em>Doppelgänger.</em></p><p>
  <em>Age: 24.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Location: Currently Unknown.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Status: Rogue.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Last Official Statement: …</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Well what else did you think was going to happen Klaus? You know how Damon gets. Poor, sweet, obsessive Damon. If our best field agent was going to fall in love with a target of course it was going to be with someone like her; Pure, wounded Clearwater with dark features, a girl who reeked of loss, a girl constantly surrounded by mysterious circumstances.</em>
</p><p><em>Just. Like. Elena</em>.</p><p>
  <em>I warned you. I told you to send me instead. Would it have hurt to give me a chance to prove myself, Englishman? To get me off that fucking analyst desk? No. But you never listen, so what do we have now? A missing mark, a compromised agent and a shitfest leak so overblown even the Original Bastard doesn't know how to clean the mess.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Forgive me, I speak out of turn. What did you want to know?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Ah, yes… How to handle Raven.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I don't like to kiss and tell but if you must know…</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I did actually care about him once. Nothing like Stephen but… close enough. Close as he would let anyone get anyway, after her.</em>
</p><p><em>Damon has a way about him. A fragility hidden beneath the icy, calculated exterior. It was that aloofness you asked Elena and I to exploit in the beginning of his service - or don't you remember his Achilles heel, as you called it? Damon's refusal to acknowledge his own sensitivity and humanity is what makes him susceptible to the honeypot tactic. The lure of gentility, the unacknowledged craving for genuine human contact - </em>that<em> is his most consummate weakness.</em></p><p><em>But tell me Klaus</em><em>, while we're on the subject of all things Damon Salvator related. What the fuck did you think was going to happen once he figured it out? Did you really think Damon was going to simply take in stride that you're the one who orchestrated Elena's untimely death? Don't you understand the monster you created at all? How did you not see this coming? After all, he's the kind to wait patiently, years if he must, for the perfect opportunity to exact his revenge</em>.</p><p>.</p><hr/><p>
  <em>(Katherine)</em>
</p><hr/><p>.</p><p>Revulsion <em>consumes</em> you as Rebekah Michaelson shoves her wet tongue down Stephen's throat, moaning in an unconvincing display of erotic ecstasy. The Ripper's hand thrusts into the front of her pants and from across the room you can tell he's fingering her. You grimace. The gleam in his chocolate eyes reveals the sick kind of pleasure he gets from his attempts at making you and prudish Elijah uncomfortable through the sexual exhibitionism. For a split second you try to not remember the gentle man he used to be, before all this. Stephen, you think, deserves more than some desperate she-devil who's only alive because Klaus hates to part with devout underlings. Stephen, you correct yourself, is a piece of shit ripper who broke your heart and lost his way the same way Damon did.</p><p>– with Elena's explosive exit.</p><p>The door slams open. Klaus, dressed impeccably in a grey suit and tie walks briskly to his office. Ignoring the nauseating display of cheap F-grade porn he gestures for you to follow him into his office. You obey quietly, though you are not often quiet about anything. This man knows about every alias you have and he holds every one of you secrets firm in his cruel hands. You hate him for it, but you need him too. He owns your freedom and secures your protection.</p><p>He pounces the moment you closed his door. "Explain."</p><p>You watch as he paces the room in swift, furious movements. He looks like a giant cat, feral even as he gracefully fills his fine crystal with golden liquid.</p><p>You sigh. "I can't."</p><p>
  <em>SMASH!</em>
</p><p>Shards of glass ricochet across the room, the splintered fragments and whiskey droplets ruining your designer blouse.</p><p>"Not. Good. Enough!"</p><p>"Oscar. De. La. Renta." You rebuff, assessing the damage to your outfit.</p><p>"Do what you get paid to do Katherine." He begins slowly. It's always a little creepy when Nicklaus smiles. "Prove you have some use outside your ability to screw your way into the most elite of social and political circles."</p><p>Ignoring the slight, you slide onto his mahogany table. It's fun to play with the boys you work with when they let their emotions get the best of them. With deliberate slowness you push your curls behind your shoulder, enjoying the growing impatience in Nicklaus's eyes as he tracks your movements. You let your hand touch your neck, drawing his attention to the scar he's given you – and the others too. Like cattle, you're all branded. His possessive claim and reputation ruins you all. No other agency or organization would ever consider you if you tried to run from his claws.</p><p>Klaus closes the distance between you two curtly and his hands wind around your body, snaking through your untamed curls as he drags you against his lithe body. When you search his face you remember that his blue-eyes and gold-haired combo should make him look more American, and not so noticeably foreign.</p><p>"Your attempts at manipulation are laughable at best sweetheart," he drawls, his eyes burning with danger even as he pats your cheek tenderly. "Speak woman, or the next shard of glass lodges itself in your cunt."</p><p>Your heart rate picks up.</p><p>There's that creepy smile again. "Where. Is. Damon?" he asks.</p><p>You exhale slowly and decide to reply honestly. You might not be the kindest of girls - or the most <em>reliable</em> of narrators - but you know better than to push the Jabberwocky's buttons. "I don't know."</p><p>"The girl then?"</p><p>"Last sighted in L.A two days ago."</p><p>"How?" He mutters, more to himself than to you. "Tell me Katerina, how does a mark with no training get away without so much as a scratch on the same night our most trusted agent disappears?"</p><p>You ignore the sting hearing your birth name causes and frown at his implication. "Damon would never betray us."</p><p><em>N</em><em>ot like I will,</em> you promise. Because this bastard forced you into this life. He took your child and ruined Stephen and all that's left are the nights you're nothing more than a doll for sex, a witness for gruesome crimes and a machine for murder. You will kill him yourself.</p><p>"If we go down, so does Stephen. Damon might be an unpredictable idiot, but his loyalty to the Ripper is legendary. He's probably drunk and nursing his ego after his first fail of a mission. He'll show up soon enough."</p><p>"He better," Klaus warns as his eyes burn dangerously, "Because if it turns out he's betrayed us – that he thinks there's a valid reason to betray us…"</p><p>Realization dawns, and you snort at his speculation. "Don't be absurd, Klaus. If I ever told Damon about <em>that</em> I'd be just as dead as you are."</p><p>Nicklaus's hands cradle your face possessively, his hands fisting into your hair. You refuse to flinch as his eyes bore into your own and his breath brushes against your skin. You notice the faint scent of stale cigarettes lingering on his breath, "My brother, bless his misguided soul, is in love with you. That, my dear girl, is the only reason you are still alive."</p><p>Klaus makes a show of carefully regarding your darkened curls, your pale face, your soft lips. His hands tighten into your hair. "Make haste and find Damon, Katerina, or I might just decide Elijah's little <em>crush</em> -" his disturbing smile illuminates his face again, a foreboding omen "-is not useful to me anymore."</p><p>.</p><hr/><p>.</p><p>Turns out you don't have to find Damon at all.</p><p>You've just stepped into your apartment when a pair of hands drag you across the small passage, shoving you into a wall. "Speak," Damon's voice demands into your ear before you can scream. He sounds almost as annoying as Nicklaus did.</p><p>Pushing away the slight tinge of nerves (the idea of Raven having you all to himself in the darkness is not nearly as arousing as some women might think when you've seen how effortlessly the handsome man kills), you roll your eyes. "If Klaus finds out you're here before I get the chance to tell him myself we're both dead."</p><p>"Now Kitty Kat, is that any way to greet your favourite Salvator?"</p><p>His tone, casual and jovial, catches you off guard. You glance into his face and exhale. He's not here to kill you, you think, or you'd already be dead. Shoving the infuriating man away, you step into your kitchen. "Klaus thinks you've gone rogue."</p><p>He makes a small sound that might be a chuckle. "Idiot. Why the hell would I go rogue?"</p><p>
  <em>Yes, why the hell would he go rogue?</em>
</p><p>"It's not my job to make sense of Klaus's mood swings."</p><p>You slide out of your trench coat and fold the material over the back of the nearest stool. With languid movements Damon stalks you into the kitchen and opens the pantry, reaching for the malt whiskey you've hidden behind the cornflakes. You wait as he pours himself a glass, watch as he downs it and wait some more when he pours himself another. You say nothing about the shadows underneath his eyes and the blood seeping through his black shirt. You make note of the fact that he's not wearing his ring.</p><p>You and Damon are not enemies, but you're not exactly allies either. Damon would not bother with a social call unless he truly wanted something. Bearing this in mind you recall every bit of information he might need, and how you might benefit to give it to him. Again, you subtle check if you can feel every place you've hidden a weapon on your person.</p><p>"The suspense is killing me, Damon." You whine when he makes a show of savoring his second glass, "You know, you really should talk to a therapist about your drinking."</p><p>"I don't need a therapist, I have you." he smirks, his piercing blue eyes taunting you. You feel a chill creep up your neck when you realize he's assessing you and you remember that Damon's 'humanity' has always been something he could compartmentalize well. You wonder if the box to it is open or shut tonight, wonder if he sees you as an enemy or ally.</p><p>"You have something better than sage advice," he says, "you have <em>files</em>! Millions of little bits of data, all crammed into that giant photographic head of yours." He smirks. "I need access."</p><p>You narrow your eyes. "I gave you everything I had on Clearwater."</p><p>"Ah ah," Damon sings, dropping his eyes to pour himself another glass. You suddenly become aware of how alert his body is, intuit that his jocundity and casual drinking are a ruse to lull you into a false sense of relaxation. "Not everything."</p><p>"I didn't?"</p><p>"Nope." Damon takes another sip.</p><p>"How'd she get away?"</p><p>He flashes you one of his smiles; one of those quick, rare heart-stopping grins that has never failed to take your breath away. Suddenly, you remember that you did care about him once. Not like Stephen but… close enough.</p><p>"She's been trained, I think."</p><p>"You think?"</p><p>"Only explanation," he watches you closely, "Her reflexes were about as sharp as mine. Not to mention she really knows how to hide."</p><p>"You think she's a hitman?" You don't wait for him to answer before you laugh. "No Damon, she's not like us. I corroborated every detail of her file myself."</p><p>"Not a hitman then. A spy. A sparrow or an agent or something...maybe even fucking FB-"</p><p>"No."</p><p>"Fine! Then at least tell me why her files have got massive gaping holes in them. There's <em>three years</em> she's unaccounted for – no school, work, boyfriends, girlfriends, nothing!" He throws his hands into the air in exasperation. "Why'd her mother side with her cousin when Young's the one who slept with her fiancé? And why's this Black bloke still calling her? What was their relationship, and what did it have to do with Uley?"</p><p>"Black?" You frown. You don't remember putting anything about Jacob Black in the file. The client didn't think Black was important. "How do you know that name?'</p><p>Damon shakes his head, and drags his hands through his hair. "I need to find her."</p><p>If you didn't know better (didn't know about Damon's never-ending devotion to dead Elena) you'd think he's got it bad for this Clearwater chick. Pushing the uneasiness you feel, you reach into your pocket and pull out your phone, texting Nicklaus.</p><p><em>Found Damon. He's not rogue, just wounded. He'll explain in the morning</em>.</p><p>"I take it Klaus will give the job to my least favorite brother?"</p><p>You narrow your eyes when you remember what Stephen forced you to endure earlier that morning. "Him and Barbie bitch."</p><p>Damon gives you a long once over, then shakes his head. "You <em>really</em> need to get laid." The older Salvator strolls into your living room and drops onto your white couch, streaking blood across the leather. "Like you really, <em>really</em> need to stop holding out your waning torch for buzzkill, bunny-snacking Stephen. You could do so much better, Kitty Kat. What about petrifying Elijah? He seems... weirdly fixated."</p><p>With a grand roll of your eyes you grab what's left of the whiskey off the counter and follow his trail of blood into the living room. Not long after you sit beside him you chug enough to get you a little tipsy, and soon you notice the way he stares out the window, lost in his thoughts.</p><p>"I've only ever failed twice in my life." He says, finally breaking the silence.</p><p>He sounds... oddly human. He never mentions his first failure - in fact, none of you do, so it surprises you that he's willing bringing <em>her</em> up. <em>Elena</em> hangs in the air between you, Nicklaus and the two brothers. If only the Salvator brothers knew the truth... you don't even want to think about what kind of damage that would do. Damon sighs. His face has softened some and there's something in his eyes that wasn't there when he left to go kill Clearwater. Whatever it is you haven't seen it since Elena.</p><p>"Damon," you begin, realizing that there's something important you haven't asked. You've never had reason to ask Damon this question before, but it seems important now. "Did you hesitate?"</p><p>Damon shoots you a sharp look, some secret emotion flickering in his clear blue eyes. For a long, terrifying moment you think that it's betrayal, that he <em>knows</em>. You push the thought away and wait for his answer.</p><p>"Did you? With Elena?" he replies.</p><p>You inhale sharply, eyes wide. "Damon-"</p><p>You drop the bottle of whiskey when he lunges.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Honeypot</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Name: Bonnie "Bon Bon" Bennet</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Age: 74</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Relevance: Eye witness</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Location: Mystic Falls, Georgia</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Occupation: Channeler, Intuitor, Tarot Card Practitioner, Astrologer, Chrystal Shop Owner, Numerologist, Mystic and Life Coach</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Official Statement: …</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I keep telling these young ones… I don't do love potions.!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Lilah was different of course. Bitter little thing like that, dark aura, generally unpleasant energy and honestly, no chance whatsoever of finding love and happiness without my assistance.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Or so I thought. But soon as the little miss stormed into my shop she looked me dead in the eye and demanded that I help her undo a soul bond.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>All my candles went right off!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You know what that means, dontcha mister Nicky? No? But aintcha super-secret spy people agent thingies supposed to know everything? All right, all right - don't get your knickerbockers in a twist I'll tell ya.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It means hell naw.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The spirits said no.</em>
</p><p><em>Mama, Grams and every other guide in my bloodline, every single sorceress right up to the first witch Emily Bennet who, bless her soul, came by way of Salem… they all said hell to the no. And I learned my lessons young, so I listened. I told her I can't help you little girl. Ain't no way to override Nature's Will without dancing in some darkness, and I don't mess with the spirits no more. Last I did that… found myself on the other side... Alone. So I told her. I said </em>that<em> man is </em>your<em> man now, now and forevermore.</em></p><p><em>She got real mad when I told her. Mean as a dog! Started breathing heavy. Snarlin'. Eyes got all wide and bloodshot. She was throwin things round in </em>my<em> shop and cursin' in her mother tongue.</em></p><p>
  <em>I don't usually put up with that kind of monkeyshines in my shop but there was something real awful about her. Somethin that felt dangerous. So I poured her a nice cuppa hot tea to calm her down, and then I gave her a fortune cookie…</em>
</p><p><em>That's</em> <em> when she asked me if I could do an accurate tracking spell.</em></p><p>
  <em>Yes, that's right, a tracking spell.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Oh you don't have to believe in the spiritual for mister Nicky, the spiritual believes in you!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You just listen to what I have to tell ya.</em>
</p><p><em>I said to the girl: if you have something that belongs to that young man of yours I can help you figure out if he's near or far. She rolled her eyes and said she didn't </em>really<em> need the help - she was just curious - but then she reached into her pocket anyway and pulled out an ugly, old-fashioned ring with a giant S on it. Less than ten minutes later I located this mister Salvator you're lookin for.</em></p><p><em>Guess she was right after all. She didn't really need my help. </em> <em>According to the spirits, Linah Cleopatra's man lived just three blocks away from my shop.</em></p><p>.</p><hr/><p>
  <em>(Damon)</em>
</p><hr/><p>.</p><p>It has been a long time since you last dreamt of her. In the past, you embraced nighttime brushes with your ghost eagerly. You welcomed the scent of lilac that eluded you in sweet nightmares, and reveled when the feel of her soft lips haunted your skin into early mornings. But now every memory of your cherished revenant forces you to face truths you wish Katherine hadn't revealed. You see Elena in a different light, an unkinder light, and you wish with all your might that you didn't.</p><p>This is how Clearwater finds you.</p><p>Hungover. </p><p>Confused.</p><p>Heartbroken.</p><p>She lies there on your silk sheets and caresses your favourite steel with a sculptor's fingertips. The way she strokes the cold grey metal would seem suggestive, but for the cool calculation in her facial features. You watch her. She watches you. And You try not to stare at the vulnerable dark skin of her neck as you contemplate the most efficient way to conquer her. It would be easy -- so easy -- to curl your fingers around her throat and finish this quickly. And yet the very thought chills you to the bone. The idea of her lifeless body, lying stiffly and contorted at odd angles, it makes you feel... it makes you <em>feel </em>an unwelcome ache. It makes you <em>regret</em>.</p><p>This is the moment you decide that you hate her. Because somehow, within the space of a few days, this woman has appeared from wherever Niklaus found her and twisted your typically organized mind into something you don't recognize. Since the moment you looked into her eyes everything except her has become dimmer. Duller. Like it belongs to some other world and she is all that is real. She's <em>planted</em> herself into your head and your life, just like Elena once did. And she didn't even need two years to do it.</p><p>Surreptitiously, you fingers wrap around the sharp blade hidden underneath your plump feather pillow. Her eyes catch the the miniscule movement, and her resulting smirk is unimpressed. "Please don't."</p><p>You swing the blade, miss by the length of an eyelash -- and instantly find yourself trapped underneath her smaller body with your arm bent at an unholy angle. You wonder how long she's been watching you sleep and realize with unease that you slept through her entry into your house, and then into your bedroom. Into your bed. You're struck with the notion that on some level you feel <em>safe</em> with this woman.</p><p>This very dangerous, sexy woman.</p><p>"How… are you… this strong?" You grunt, doing you best to ignore the many cuts and wounds still healing across your body.  </p><p>"Don't do that again." She advises seriously. "I don't want to hurt you. But I will if I must."</p><p><em>She's bluffing</em>. You know she is, and yet her face gives nothing away. It is a flawless marble carving that would put even a manipulative bitch like Katherine to shame. When her lips curve into a slow, amused smile you remember seeing it somewhere else before… <em>You recall her standing in front of a mirror with a goofy smile on her face, while a younger man stood behind her, laughing at her. </em>By now you understand that these flickers of recognition and the myriad of emotions they awaken -- they are <em>hers</em>. </p><p>"Who's Jacob?"</p><p>"Stay out of my head." she snarls.</p><p>You frown. "He's real then?"</p><p>"Shut up." She tightens her grasp on your arm. You lose the blade when a piercing pain shoots up your arm. "I've half a mind to break every one of your limbs after what you tried to do. I reckon I'll be saving a lot of lives."</p><p>"Hundreds. I'm sure they'll all be happy to go on committing their crimes against humanity, Pocahontas. Break on." </p><p>You'd hoped to offend her, but she seems rather unimpressed with your pick, as though she'd hoped for better than such an uncreative, predictable slur. To be honest, you think that Nanyehi Ward would be a much stronger comparison for such a tough, no-nonsense woman who's piercing eyes reveal a stubborn and fierce inner woman.</p><p>Despite your current predicament your eyes trail downward, and you vaguely note the pretty pale skin exposed by the slight parting of her blouse. Her scent of ocean salt and sun is inebriating. You have to force yourself to stay focused. "You wouldn't be the first person to try and kill me," you smile, 'but maybe you'll be the first to survive, even if you are missing a tongue and an eye." </p><p>Again that flicker of unease. Even as you say the words the very <em>idea</em> of hurting Clearwater bothers you. After all these years of killing you're adept at compartmentalizing unwanted thoughts and emotions. But you're off your game. Discovering the truth about Elena, having to face such deep betrayal from the one person you always thought was so pure, it has your black heart aching worse than your battered bones. You are tired – too tired for this. You want Clearwater to leave so that you can go back to drinking away the sorrows of your dishonorable, wasted excuse for existence.</p><p>Maybe she sense the depth of your anguish. Your targets eyes fill with compassion. "Mister, if you can reign in your desire to kill me for the next twenty-five minutes, I'll explain why you can't get me out of your head. I'll leave afterwards, if you decide that's what you want from me." She immediately looks very sad about this particular option, but she soldiers on nonetheless. "I'll do anything you want. Just give me a chance to explain."</p><p>When she trails off after her little speech, you get the feeling that she's not particularly comfortable with articulating her innermost feelings.</p><p>You consider her offer. Consider the situation. This is by far the strangest encounter you've ever had with a woman, for many reasons. You've never had a target in your bed before. Ever. Unlike Stephen and Katherine you don't find any kind of pleasure in exploiting your kills any more than you absolutely have to. Despite your charm and your looks you've never been one for the honeypot tactic. Not like the woman before you who's managed to intrigue you so effortlessly. And well she's… she's in your bed. In <em>this</em> bed. The bed you once shared with the woman you're still grieving. And while your feelings about Elena are currently less than stellar there's still so much of you that still belongs to her. Having an attractive woman in this bed, however 'innocent' the circumstances… it feels too close to betrayal.</p><p>And yet...</p><p>'Don't mistake my curiosity for trust." You sigh, yielding because you really do want to know what it is she has to say. You note the sharp relief in her eyes and see some of the tension melt away from her face and shoulders with just your words. Just for an added effect, to throw her a little off her guard, you add; "Your severed head is worth five million dollars."</p><p>Her dark eyes widen in unconcealed horror. "Five million?"</p><p>"Someone <em>really</em> wants you dead…" you drawl, before adding in a whisper, "wonder why."</p><p>You use her sudden distraction to push her off your body and smile when she tumbles off the bed. It is a small relief to your aching body when her weight leaves you, thought the cool morning air that hits your chest makes you frown at how abnormally scorching her body temperature is. Not that you care. If Clearwater's dying from some strange, lethal fever it is not any of your concern. You stalk across the room to your bathroom and grin when your heightened instincts alert you to the fact that her eyes are on you.</p><p>"I'm going to take a shower now. You can join me if you want." You turn and smirk naughtily when you catch her staring at your chest with obvious hunger. You gaze down suggestively at your half naked body, enjoying the delicious flood of red that floods her face when she spies your morning glory. "…Or watch."</p><p>She glares daggers at you, mortified as she fails to brush away the result of your words on her body. She heads for the other door. "You're not half as sexy as you think you are." she retorts lamely, amusingly disgruntled.</p><p>You find yourself strangely pleased by her frustration. "Mhmm"</p><p>.</p><hr/><p>.</p><p>"I see dead people." You carol, strutting confidently into your monochrome kitchen.</p><p>"Did you tell your interior decorator to make this place look like it belongs to a serial killer?" your intruder shoves a long strip of bacon into her mouth and swallows before fixing you with an intrigued look, "or did you buy this mansion specifically because it was formerly designed by one?"</p><p><em>Clearwater</em>, you decide, <em>might just prove to be fun. But t</em>here's something else about this strange Quileute woman…a thrum of tense awareness around her… a wild, almost instinctual awareness of your movements… even the way she <em>looks </em>at you… Something about her makes you aware and uncomfortable. The words are out of your mouth before you think better of them.</p><p>"Why does someone want you dead?"</p><p>Her entire demeanor shifts instantly, morphine her face into a nasty scowl. She turns her back to you, a bold move considering she knows what you're capable off, and then she breaks an egg into your frying pan. "You tell me."</p><p>"Raven." You offer, dropping onto the nearest seat and wondering what kind of woman brings her own eggs along when planning to break into her assassin's house.</p><p>"Raven." She repeats. "I guess you already know who I am."</p><p>You don't deny it, and you ignore the furious accusation she fails to conceal in her voice. You're not the most morally sound individual but you guess that knowing that a professional murderer is privy to your most personal information must feel about as violating as waking up to an uninvited stranger in your bedroom. "Clearwater," you begin on the end of a long sigh. "Why are you here?"</p><p>"Well…" She takes another bite of your bacon. You hate how preoccupied you are by the way she slowly licks the salty taste off of her fingertips. When she bites her lip in thought, you have to look away. She closes the space between you, plops into the sophisticated seat opposite the pristine table and runs her hand impatiently through her straight hair. The waves are long and full, an exquisite exotic ebony so perfect you assume she spends a lot of time tending to it. Suddenly she blurts out. "You're my soulmate!"</p><p>You could hear a pin drop after her statement.</p><p>Ten seconds pass.</p><p>Then twenty.</p><p>You open your mouth, shut it, and then shut your eyes. "Are you alright in the head?" You finally ask, because insanity is not the only plausible explanation for her presence in your life that makes any kind of sense.</p><p>Yes, you see it now. Her erratic behavior, the details of her many unsuccessful therapy sessions stashed in her file, even that vague airy puppy-dog expression currently gracing her face. Her unnatural heat must be a part of it. Yes... You were wrong before. The wrench isn't a spy or some super agent for an unknown enemy organization. She's just a mentally unfit target that got away and managed to stay on your tail.</p><p>You burst into laughter, feel the tears spring to your eyes.</p><p>"It's not funny." She insists. The vehemence of her protestation only makes you cackle louder.</p><p>"You're my soulmate!" She continues, slamming her palm onto the table and leaving a deep dent in the marble. You stop laughing and she adds. "I can prove it. You're real name is Damon, isn't it? And you're Italian. You have a baby brother and a complicated relationship with your father. And there's a woman … Elena." She stops suddenly, her eyes flickering to yours in question. "Elena.. who is she?"</p><p>She begins to blur, and you don't realize why until a strange tinge of red clouds your vision. You don't know when you stood. All that you know is that you are furious. <em>Furious</em>. Absolutely <em>manic</em> that this woman – this <em>agent</em> sent by Klaus in some insulting test to your loyalty -– is attempting to disturb what little peace you have left in your life.</p><p>"I am going to say this once." You growl. Her eyes widen, her body seeming to pulse awake in an instinctive response to the dangerous, low tone of your voice. "Get. Out."</p><p>She only shakes her head, suddenly looking very tired as she speaks. "I lied earlier. I can't leave you, Raven. It physically hurts… running from you. Seven years later and now I finally understand what Sam meant about Emily. What Jacob meant -"</p><p>"GET OUT!" This time it is you who slams your palms against the surface of the counter. </p><p>"You feel it too." She rises to her feet, defiant. Her voice is gratingly calm and it burns you how her dark eyes seem ignited with power. "You see me too. In your dreams, don't you Damon? You <em>see</em> me. And you know things about me that you can't explain, things that are... personal things-"</p><p>"SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!" You're not sure when you got around the table or when you grabbed her upper arms, but you shake her erratically, throttling her and sounding much like a petulant child. You fucking hate her. She's a no-good, scheming conniving little snake and she makes you feel so... so... so fucking - "Fuck!"</p><p>Your eyes flicker to those full, rose lips. And then, like a hurricane, your mouth crashes into hers.</p><p>"Fuck." You murmur, but her mouth is as hot and hungry and furious as your own. As the rest of her. She greedily swallows your string of curses, drawing them from your mouth into her own with her tongue, refusing to let you go just as reason returns to you. You're not sure if you want her to stop, not that it matters. Your own lips refuse to be bested by her and respond of their own accord. War, battle, fighting – these are things you understand instinctually and the art of seduction is not so different.</p><p>Her hands clasp the sides of your face, keeping in you in place as her frantic tongue parts your lips and your tongue refuses to lay dormant and hostage. Soon it is you – not her – powering into your opponent. Soon it is you siezing control as your teeth graze across her lips, scrape down her neck and your arms curl around her hips. She feels like sin and tastes like hot desire and red meat. Like forests, dark wolves.... It is so easy to see it now... home. Home looks like a terrifyingly high views of a rocky ocean. It feels like running faster than the wind, feeling uninhibited as you race across a familiar forest. You drag your fingers into her hair, feel her heavenly body melt against your own. You want more. You want... you want -</p><p>"Take off your clothes."</p><p>Searing heat shoots directly to your groin, and your hands tighten around her, crushing her. You're long past trying to figure out if you're pushing her away or pulling her close anymore. The chair falls, cutlery clutters to the floor. You barely notice anything else as you knock her body into the nearest wall.</p><p>There's too much clothing in the way.</p><p>Suddenly, Clearwater's lips tear away from yours, swollen and bruised as she comes up for oxygen. "Not yet," She begs between massive gasps of air. Her eyes seem so guileless, so pure and natural when she pants her next words. "Damon, there's still so much you still don't understand."</p><p><em>Where did Klaus find this one?</em> You wonder. She really is a phenomenal fucking actress. You're about to crash your mouth into hers again, screw her boneless into the wall and deal with the consequences later, when a flash of red crosses your periphery.</p><p>"Leah, no!" You yell, forcefully shoving her away.</p><p>And that's how you catch the bullet that was meant for her.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Underground</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>CHAPTER FOUR: UNDERGROUND</strong>
</p><hr/><p>
  <em>Agent: Stephen Salvator.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Alias: Ripper.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Age: Unknown, approximately 28.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Location: Mystic Falls, Georgia.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Status: Active.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Last Official Statement: …</em>
</p><p>
  <em>.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I have no reasons to lie.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I shot the target. Twice. And it would have been three times if that traitor hadn't interrupted.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The first bullet sliced through her neck; it severed a major artery and drilled a Grand Canyon-sized hole into her flesh. The second bullet was... explosive. It burst apart on impact, grinding through her sternum and shredding the right side of her body open. It was… deliciously decadent. Inspired, even. Wet dream vision worthy of Picasso how it splattered red across Damon's monotone kitchen. So, no. Unless the girl's an immortal demigod or some kind of regenerating alien I severely doubt it's her sighted driving North through Charleston.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Of course I checked the bodies before I set the bloody place on fire. What kind of rookie do you take me for? Relax Nicklaus. Have a drink. What is it about this target that's got you so damn paranoid?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It's like I said; at approximately 8:23 am Raven entered the kitchen and invited the girl to sit at the breakfast table. With my vision no longer obstructed, I immediately took the shot to terminate Clearwater…</em>
</p><p>
  <em>-and that's when the asshole decided to play hero.</em>
</p><p><em>He underestimated me, as he usually does. By now Raven should have known better than to think I'd hesitate to kill him after – after Elena. Believe me when I say there's no love lost here. Not anymore. But as to why Damon would be thoughtless enough to risk </em>everything<em> for a mark… beats me. If anyone could hazard a guess it would be Katherine. She's always been the only one who could make sense of Damon's impetuous thought patterns.</em></p><p>
  <em>What do you mean Katherine's missing?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>.</em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <em>(Embry)</em>
</p><hr/><p>.</p><p>It's 3:27 on a Sunday morning and you must be dreaming, because there is no way in hell Leah 'Uber-bitch' Clearwater is standing outside your door and carrying a drop-dead gorgeous (albeit unconscious) man in her arms. One relocation, two packs and over three peacefully uninterrupted years later and there she stands, coated in sweat, grime and dried blood – and you know, you just <em>know</em> that she's about to fuck up your entire life.</p><p>You're partly convinced that you are in one of your vivid, lucid nightmares. After all, the sight of a dying man in Leah's arms is not unfamiliar. It has been four years and you still can't get the unbearable details of Colin Littlesea's death out of your mind. You can still feel the sharp pseudo-pain in your underside as Caius and Dimitri ripped the intestines out of his stomach. You still remember the fearful race in his thoughts as he tried – so goddamn hard – to stay alive long enough to make it to the Cullens. It was Clearwater who comforted him then. Leah, who cradled the young man as he cried and told him not to worry about his family, because she'd protect them. Leah, who gently whispered soothing lies about an afterlife.</p><p>The after: how you avenged him, how you, Seth, Paul and Brady redressed the evergreen forest with their charred remains as a warning to their kind - you never recall with that same kind of clarity. Not like you remember the seventeen times she stroked his hair back from his face even after he died.</p><p>"Embry!" She snaps, her stern voice betrays her exhaustion even while her eyes glow a startling lupine gold that is slightly terrifying. "Fucking help!" she shouts through the rain. Thunder echoes her order.</p><p>It doesn't matter that she hasn't phased in years or that you're still harboring a bitter grudge, your feet move swiftly as they give into the driving urge to submit to her command. You push the door open, cart the frail man into your lithe arms and storm into the dining room.</p><p>"Brady!" You scream thought your partner is a light sleeper and you know he's scented the intruders by now. You've just entered the dining room when he appears at the foot of the stairs, his heart-shaped face decorated with shock and confusion. His heart rate surges in alarm when he drops his gaze to the battered stranger.</p><p>His eyes are slightly accusing when they land on Leah. "Please tell me he's not dead."</p><p>"Just barely."</p><p>The man's heartbeat is faint. Too faint. Without another word Brady rushes into the kitchen, switches on every light he can find on the way and lighting the kettle while Leah clears the dining room table. There are enough leftover pizza boxes to feed a small army, but she barely notices them as she watched the man. Another time, you'd be battling the irritating safety and delight your wolf feels being near a higher-ranking wolf, Leah, damn renegade that she is, doesn't deserve such loyalty. But your animal's crushing need for pack, and your man's overwhelming frustration about the fact away. The dying stranger necessitates too much of your care and attention.</p><p>By the time you lay him onto the table Brady's shock has given way into worry. "I smell so much blood. How long's he been like this?</p><p>"A few days," Leah replies tersely. She eyes the man cautiously, almost warily. When she touches his face, light and gentle as a feather, there's something strangely familiar about the look in her eyes, as though he were something priceless and beautifully fragile. Abruptly, she rips her gaze from him to search for something in yours… some kind of clemency, maybe, and the acute vulnerability softens her features – and worries you. It is the kind of look she would have trusted Seth or Jacob with once. Not you. "Tell me you can help him."</p><p>"I can try."</p><p>As gently as you can master, you rip the dark material off the man's body.</p><p>It is a few seconds before you realize that the seemingly delicate material is misleadingly; its interior is solidly metallic and the delicate design belies its strength and mystery. "What the hell… what the hell is this?"</p><p>You've spent enough time around Charlie to know what a standard bulletproof vest should look like. This state of the art bullshit is <em>not it.</em></p><p>Brady hates Leah, far more than you do, but he watches the scene unfold with patient, compassionate eyes. "What happened to him?"</p><p>"Gunshot wound to the chest." Leah supplies, raising more questions with her answer.</p><p>"It got through all that?"</p><p>"It's not the bullet that's hurting him."</p><p>Frowning, you strip the last thin layer of protection away and gasp, sighting the scions of purple and orange that mark his mutilated body. The spectral assortment hints at broken bones, internal bleeding and infections, but it is the deep cuts and bruised welts screaming across his form that claim your utmost attention. Brady inhales, green eyes wide. "Who would do something like this?"</p><p>"No one good. Leah, I take it there's a reason you've brought him here instead of taking him to the nearest hospital." Noting the distinctly guilt-ridden look in the she-wolf's eyes you channel your inner Sue Clearwater, "I can't help him like he needs with half a year of med-school training under my belt. We're going to have to call for help."</p><p>Leah takes a step back, as though you've slapped her. She shakes her head passionately. "No one can know we're here."</p><p>You snarl impatiently, cutting her off. "It's not like he has much time! God Leah, I don't even know how the poor man's still alive."</p><p>"I do." Brady interrupts. You and the she-wolf glance at him, but he only glares at the unkempt woman. That guilty sheen dims her almond eyes again. "You bit him… didn't you?"</p><p>She doesn't answer.</p><p>You gasp. Swiftly, your eyes scan the guest's skin for recent marks and widen in shock when you see the two small incisions ornamenting the inside of his left wrist. You growl, completely lost for words. It is old magic. So old it has not been attempted in centuries, not to mention never tested on a human.</p><p>"Beyond fucking irresponsible!" You shout as the red clouds your vision. "<em>Beyond</em> irresponsible. Cellulitis, rabies, sepsis, pasteurella infections-"</p><p>"We're shapeshifters, not dogs!" Leah defends staunchly, but you are in no mood to argue. You cross the room in three swift strides, curl your hand around the telephone, and do what you wish you'd been able to do for Colin. Jacob's favourite doctor answers after two short rings- his voice prompts an instinctual shiver down your spine.</p><p>"Dr. Cullen, we need your help."</p><p>.</p><hr/><p>.</p><p>You wish you could stay mad at her, but you reckon she's punishing herself enough for that.</p><p>Your former Alpha does not sleep, she doesn't eat, she barely talks to anyone except to ask the doctor about the stranger's progress. It is during Carlisle's second visit that you realize she doesn't even know the man's name – that she's jeopardized her conscience and sanity to protect an absolute stranger - and that is when you forgive her. </p><p>She's been falling asleep in awkward positions for over a week when you finally manage to sneak her up the stairs. She wakes after you've stripped her of her garments, but before you've dropped her into the salted water. "You need a fucking bath." You declare strictly, ignoring her protestations. If you left it up to her you know she'd stay dirty forever, if it meant being near her beloved imprint. That is what it is –sigh – a fucking Imprint. Leah's acting crazy clingy because that's what happens to wolves when they're puppy whipped.</p><p>She glowers at you and you laugh because that look used to curdle milk, now it is softened with exhaustion and devotion. "Bath, love." You drop her into the bath and smile when she falls asleep in the water.</p><p>.</p><hr/><p>.</p><p>"We can't just abandon her. She's pack!" You immediately regret the words, waiting for Brady to counter with the predictable <em>like she did? </em>Behind him the stranger's face is plastered on the television. He's made the FBI's top ten most wanted list.</p><p>"Whatever she's gotten herself wrapped up in this time: I want no part of it!" your partner yells, probably waking up half of Charlston. "I mean it Em, how many times is she supposed to destroy our lives before we learn from our mistakes! Carlisle's probably submitted our names to the Feds by now!"</p><p>"Carlisle's discreet. And I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation for all of this…" You sound stupid. You know you sound stupid. But you won't betray her, "There must be a reason she came here." <em>A reason the Creator chose him for her, you</em> don't say. You don't think the knowledge that a dangerous fugitive is Leah's Imprint will calm the situation.</p><p>"Yes. He's a psychopath, and Leah's selfish!"</p><p>You sigh, spooning some leftover macaroni into a bowl and placing it into the small oven. As a general rule, you and Brady usually avoid arguments. Habitually this is the part you both agree to disagree - where he grows irritated with the distance and draws close into your chest. He likes to cuddle, and he tends to smell like earth and moss after his lengthy runs. The scent is comfort; feels like a bit of La Push carried across states. He's the only thing you have really, besides Tiff. You hate fighting with him. "Leah's… lost her way. She's completely alone."</p><p>"She did that to herself." He runs his hand through his curls, "I don't trust her."</p><p>"That's okay just… trust <em>me</em>."</p><p>You see the war in his eyes. It's not long until he's pacing. "Okay, help me understand. Tell me why."</p><p>You sigh. There really is no way to explain the complexity of the issue to someone who wasn't there. "It was… complicated Brady. When Jake left her in charge she… she wasn't ready for all of it. She didn't think of it as a burden but… she never felt… <em>built</em> for it. When Jake left…" God you can't say it. You <em>can't</em> – she ordered it. "It affected her badly. She really needed him."</p><p>"We all did." Brady says, clenching his teeth. "Difference is, we all stayed and tried to work through it. I don't understand how you can stand there and <em>defend</em> her. Colin-" he snarls, bones cracking as he makes his way for the door. You're thankful you live on the outskirts of a desolate town when a wolf leaps out of the house.</p><p>.</p><hr/><p>.</p><p>You and Leah consider each other carefully. You note that the shadows under her eyes have faded in the last twenty-four hours, a strange parallel to the scars that have faded on the strange man's body. She drops into the kitchen chair, smiling wryly. "Who would have thought, baby Brady's got some bite to his bark."</p><p>You groan, "You heard that?"</p><p>"Every immortal in the Northern hemisphere heard that." She shrugs. "For what it's worth, I really am sorry." Her eyes are wide and vulnerable again as she apologizes. It's… <em>disconcerting</em> to see Leah Clearwater so… well, so subdued. So <em>considerate</em>. "I wouldn't have come here if I had any other options."</p><p>"You do have options." <em>Seth, Sue, Billy, Rach… Jacob.</em> The words hang in the air between you two, but neither of you are really willing to acknowledge them. You push the plate of food across the table take a seat slowly, eyeing her carefully as she forces herself to eat. "Carlisle come by? While I was out?" she asks.</p><p>"Stop doing that."</p><p>Her brows lift.</p><p>"Taking care of him before taking care of yourself." You finish.</p><p>
  <em>Bloody Imprints. Bloody, fucking Imprints.</em>
</p><p>She grins, wide and dopey eyed. "It's the weirdest thing… Like I know that in theory I <em>abhor</em> the concept of Imprints. In theory I hate the idea of belonging to anyone else. But in practice…love doesn't feel like ownership at all. It feels…oddly liberating." The vicious way she stabs at her macaroni almost belies her mild, gentle tone. "I don't even know his name, but I know he won't hurt me - that he cares for me. That nauseatingly perfect, God-given love I hated to see in Sam and Jacob's eyes is in my heart now, and I don't even want to reject it. I would have, before, if only to prove that I was better than Sam and Emily. And that I could be stronger than Jacob. But… isn't that childish? Holding out on something that will make me happy just to prove a point? Don't I deserve happiness as well?"</p><p>"At least you'll be you." You remark. "At least you'll love who you want to love, and not who biology tells you to."</p><p>"It's not about children." Her eyes flashing with regret. "If this was about children Jake and I would have... Embry, I'm not sad about it anymore. I just think after everything that happened in the past... I want some bit of happiness too. I'm not going to fight the Imprint. I accept it."</p><p>You glance towards the living room when the man's breathing shifts. He lays sprawled across Brady's favourite couch, and the both of you can tell he's awake – though feigning sleep. "Who is he?"</p><p>"His five passports name him Raven."</p><p>"Five?"</p><p>"Spy, I think. Or hitman."</p><p>You laugh, because <em>what the actual fuck</em>. "At least he's sexy. Plus, you'll never be bored."</p><p>Leah's face breaks into a wide grin. "Fucking Imprints."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So I know there's not a lot of Damon/Leah in this chapter but I'll make up for it in the next chapter. Promises.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Clandestine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>.</p><p>.</p><p>
  <em>Name: Rosalie Lilian Hale Cullen</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Age: Classified.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Relevance: Involuntary Eye Witness.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Location: Rochester, New York.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Occupation: Pharmacist.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Last Official Statement: …</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yes, I knew the mutt was running. I'm not an idiot. Leah was in over her head and that mass murderer she was dragging along with was plastered all over the television. Not that the idea of committing a felony ever stopped Carlisle. The Salvator was dying; you know how Doc gets about the Hippocratic. Plus, it was Leah asking. A Clearwater. There's so very little my family wouldn't do for her.</em>
</p><p><em>So, here we are. Threaten all you like Nicklaus, but help me Hades, you nick one hair off her ruffled grey pelt and I'll skin you alive myself. I know what you are. I know </em>who<em> you are. So this is what's going to happen. You're going drop this imbecilic farce of a 'clandestine' operation. You're going to withdraw whatever sleazy hitmen you have hunting down my wolf. And then you're going to leave her be so she and her imprint can live out their dull, boring dreams of a bloodless retirement and a litter of puppies. You've ruined enough lives to make a lot of enemies Nicklaus, so back off or I'll make damn sure the Volturi knows its you triggering another war with the wolves.</em></p><p>
  <em>We're clear then? Good. Oh, one more thing.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Tell your bitch of a client that if she ever messes with my best friend again, I'll throw her to the dogs myself.</em>
</p><p>.</p><hr/><p>
  <em>(Damon)</em>
</p><hr/><p>.</p><p>You clear your throat slowly, ignoring the raw burn in your throat that follows every uttered word. "Stephen."</p><p>Clearwater, until now fixated on <em>the Penguin Encyclopedia of Horror and the Supernatural</em>, drops the massive volume to her lap and considers you with ebony eyes too perceptive for her own good. You throat is still on fire. Your stomach's sore too; and feels like a never-ending void. Yet a lukewarm glass of water remains untouched on the nearest side table. It's vain, you know it is, but you refuse to take a sip. She's already seen your vulnerabilities, you will not let her think you weak too. You swing your feet to the floor and pretend away the throb in your temple. "Is he dead?"</p><p>Her eyes slice through the air, landing almost painfully on yours before you notice the deep, feral sound that rumbles from somewhere in her chest. With eyes that flash with sudden hatred, she glares at you, her gaze intense and unswerving. "Unfortunately, Not yet."</p><p>The relief is overwhelming. Stephen, the bastard, is alive. Your brother might be out there wreaking malicious havoc on the human race, but you prefer that to the alternative of his death. He is all you have, after all. "In case this wasn't clear before, he's off limits."</p><p>"Bite me."</p><p>Oh you would... but you're exhausted. Your eyes trail over the woman you've come to associate with danger, desire and uncertainty. She seems wholly focused on that book, but there's an alertness to her even as she twirls a lock of hair round her finger and bites distractedly into her full lower lip. Bite her, she said. You would, if everything didn't pulse so damn sore. With a groan you rub a hand across your pale face and ruff stubble, wincing at the idea that you've become some kind of caveman. You're too beat for this. Another time you'd be inciting a battle of wills with her, but your body feels rammed and you'd do anything for a double shot of whiskey.</p><p>"Off. Limits." You repeat sternly, wondering just when she went from handing you your ass on a platter to trying to protect you from Stephen.</p><p>Clearwater frowns; seemingly confused by the the trajectory of your thoughts and your request to save the Ripper's life. Without another word she grants her book dog ears, marking her page, before she heads into the tiny kitchenette. She returns only minutes later with two room-temperature hamburgers on a plate and places them by the glass of water abandoned on the small table next to your makeshift bed. "Eat." she says. Still watching her cautiously, you bite into the meal and instantly betray your earlier decision to seem stronger than the needs of your body.</p><p>Twenty minutes later, not long after a curly-haired brute grudgingly grumbles 'good morning' and storms off into the grey showers, Clearwater shakes her head and fixes you with a piercing stare. "Tell me why. Tell me why I shouldn't grind that sick bastard into rose-fertilizer, and don't give me that 'he's my brother bullshit' - he sure as hell doesn't know what that means." </p><p>Now that you think about it, how does a professional murderer go about explaining the complex dynamics of his 'strained' relationship with his sociopath of a brother?</p><p>"Whatever he's done, I've probably done worse. If we're <em>soulmates</em>-" you scoff at the word, "like you say we are, then you're gonna have to start being honest with yourself about what I am. Things aren't black and white in my world."</p><p>She drops the book, her hands fisting against her thigs as every one of her muscles go taut. There's a hardness in her eyes as she turns away from you and glares out the window. "Leah." You continue slowly, testing the the feel of her name on your tongue. "He's my Seth."</p><p>"Lets get one thing clear Raven. Whatever you think you know about me, or the people in my life, you're mistaken. You know nothing about me." She bares her teeth in a weirdly lupine gesture, shakes her head in disgust and turns back to the misted window. "Seth is pure."</p><p>Her words bother you. They shouldn't - you know what the Ripper is far more intimately than she ever will - but the knowledge of just how deeply you failed to protect your brother from Niklaus' grip taunts you. She doesn't see it, does she? That you and her, you're not so different. You both hate deeply, but you love deeply too - with a fierce kind of loyalty. When you look at your baby brother you see a man whose heart was once pure too.</p><p>You follow her gaze to the darkness threatening ominously outside the window. Winter has approached swiftly and the fog that swallows the yellow trees around the cabin feels sinister. Insidious. <em>Unnatural</em>. There are no stray sounds here, in or outside this quiet, lonely safehouse. The rain floods, but no frogs' croak. No crickets chirp. No birds' melody their songs. You haven't heard so much as the distant roar of an engine. It's s though all other living creatures are uneager to come closer.</p><p>"We're in Charleston?"</p><p>She hums an affirmative and you frown. Washington DC is crawling with all kinds of people you need to avoid, and you're only hours away. Not to mention New York, where many of Niklaus' best agents are active. And yet she's managed to stow you away without being noticed. It's nothing short of a miracle. Statistically impossible. Unless…</p><p>"They think we're dead." She lifts her brow at your surprised tone, but neither confirms nor denies your assertion." They're they think we're dead - or you, they think he's killed you. That's the only reason why no one would be working their ass off for the bounty that's now probably on both our heads. Someone's claimed murder." You stretch out your feet, feeling out every knot in the muscles. "It's been what? A week?"</p><p>"Two." She says nonchalantly. Almost. The hellfire in her coal eyes give her away. "You've been unconscious for most of it."</p><p>The monstrous thirst and hunger you felt earlier suddenly make a fuckload more sense. <em>How are you still alive...?</em></p><p>"Point is no one's looking because no one's thinking to look." You say, "Nicklaus and the client probably think we're dead, which means he's lying about what happened. How'd you cover our tracks?"</p><p>"I didn't have to." She watches you carefully now, searching for something in your eyes. Perhaps she finds what she's looking; she smirks dryly. "I see, that's why you're shielding him, isn't it? You think your brother's protecting you. You don't remember."</p><p>"Remember what?"</p><p>"The arson."</p><p>"Arson?"</p><p>"The fucking pyromaniac incinerated everything! He almost -" She stands suddenly, fists clenched at her sides. The shaking's worse. She looks at you furiously, but you that it's not you she's angry with. Your head is still throbbing, but you push past the fogginess, try to remember... Recollection happens slowly; the memories hazy. A red light. The crack of a window. Pain. And then the gasoline.</p><p>Your breath catches.</p><p>He used gasoline.</p><p>Just like Niklaus did when he served Elena Gilbert a Molotov cocktail.</p><p>
  <em>"Just like Elena, brother." Stephen smirked. He stood there, watching you writhe in pain as you stared at Clearwater. As you tried to make sense of the red splattered across the white surfaces of your kitchen. As you forced yourself to admit that her white blouse hadn't always been scarlet. She was dead. It had felt like your worst nightmare come true, hurt you in places you'd never even known existed. "An Indian whore? Poor Elena, so easily replaced by the exotic."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The Ripper stalked towards you and rested a heavy foot on your chest, pushing aggressively against the wounds there. "Klaus wanted this done old-school. No. Too easy. I want you to suffer Damon. I want you to feel what she did, in the end." You turned your head away from the foul liquid he spilled over your face and clothing, over the entire room and then the house, and that's when you caught her movement. Tiny, just a twitch in Clearwater's neck as it impossibly snapped itself back into place.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You threw up when her dull eyes found consciousness, and Stephen, not understanding, had laughed. "And just think, with every searing lick of flame you'll finally feel for Elena what she always, always, always felt for you. A love that burned for no other…. Not even me. How poetic."</em>
</p><p>"Bastard." It really shouldn't hurt by now. Stephen's never trusted you. He's always done this, always betrayed you. And yet, it does. Hurts worse than anything or anyone else ever did because <em>he's</em> all that's left. He might be a broken shell of a person, but he's <em>your</em> humanity. The last two Salvator brothers, that was always the endgame. You were gonna get him out, somehow. Away from Niklaus' control. So much for that plan.</p><p>Leah inhales deeply, and you can tell she's forcing herself to unclench her jaw. She pushes a stray hair away from her face, it is redder than you've ever seen it, and she shakes violently. "I didn't kill him because I know how you feel about him, Raven. But so help me if he ever tries to hurt you again, I wont be merciful again."</p><p>And then she's gone. It all happened so fast you wonder if she was even standing there at all. You wonder about the other things you remember too. All that blood. It's a miracle you're still alive, yes, but you were wearing a vest... What about her?</p><p>.</p><hr/><p>.</p><p>"Consider my life debt paid."</p><p>"It was never yours to pay."</p><p>"Renesmeé's then. Or Bella's. Jacob's. Whatever Leah, I mean it. No more of this star-crossed, love-at-first-sight bullshit. It's always you young ones with your war-inducing relationships. The rest of us are exhausted, we left that shit back in Forks with Edward's family, so how's about the next time you need a favor you call someone else."</p><p>"Bitch, I called <em>Carlisle</em>. You're the one who decided to crash the party."</p><p>"Haha! Well, can you blame me? Leah Clearwater, bitterest bad bitch of the La Push reservation <em>Finally</em> Imprints I'm supposed to just stay in the dark and wonder about who he is? Please. I would never miss the chance to see this once in a lifetime phenomenon with my own yellow eyes."</p><p>"The only reason you're here is to gloat at Paul and Quil since you weren't stupid enough to assume I was lesbian. Yes, I heard about that. All three of you better sleep with one eye open; the day of reckoning is coming."</p><p>"Hey, it was easy money!" The angelic voice laughs. The sound is high-pitched and harmonic as it drags you from your sleep; so beautiful it can't be real. But there's a smell too, a stomach-turning saccharine fragrance that follows the blond woman and the doctor she assists too. Its been scorching your throat for days, leaving your voice raw in the mornings.</p><p>"I hope he's good for you, your Imprint. If he's not Leah, you run. Don't hesitate like -" she sighs. "You find me if you have to. Emmett and I will help. Just don't play the hero like you wolves always do."</p><p>A pause.</p><p>"Are you going to the wedding?"</p><p>"No."</p><p>"Jake wants you there. Renesmeé too; at least that what Bella says. Apparently the halfling understands."</p><p>"Bella's dumb as a brick."</p><p>"Leah!"</p><p>Laughter, and then another pause.</p><p>"Leah, what do you want, really?"</p><p>"Honestly Rose… I just want it all to stop. I want normal."</p><p>.</p><hr/><p>.</p><p>
  <em>What's an Imprint?</em>
</p><p>You want to ask, but the buff Brady's mood is always sour as spoilt milk, and every time you look at Leah, you get a jittery feeling in your stomach. It makes you feel like a punk. You don't understand this... this pull to be near her. This desire to hear her voice, this need to see her smile and hear her voice. <em>Imprint. Imprint. Imprint...</em> What's an Imprint? You should ask, but the words won't leave your mouth in her presence.</p><p>You consider questioning the tall guy with the calm, wise air about him. She calls him Embry, mentioned that he's something like a brother to her. There's something about his oval face that betrays kindness even though he seems stern and rigid at times. And there's that lostness about him... like he's forgotten how to smile. The man's got a hollow look, like Stephen did the day you both watched Elena 'die.' A shadow haunts him and his lover Brady, even Clearwater. You see it lurking in her eyes sometimes. You wonder who it was they lost. Just what exactly it was they saw. Pure, she called Seth. Innocent. You wonder who -or what - stole her innocence from her.</p><p>God, you're bored. You want a drink. You want to find the nearest pub, jump onto the tallest table you can find and dance with the prettiest woman in the room. Knowing your luck, she'd probably be Clearwater. The bitch who punched you in the face, snuck into your bed and made you want her. The bitch who now refuses to punch you in the face, sneak into your bed, and make you want her again. She's dressed in a snug, oversized sweater that hangs off her sleeve, and for the first time in your life you're jealous of a piece of clothing. Distractedly, she ties her ebony hair into a long sleek ponytail. "Well?" she says, tossing the lengthy locks over her shoulder. "Spit it out!" She snaps. Her eyes never leave that damn encyclopedia, but she's obviously been aware of your curious gaze.</p><p>
  <em>Whose Jacob?</em>
</p><p>"Who's Barbie?"</p><p>She shoots you a half smile. "Rosalie Hale. Cullen now, actually. She's a friend."</p><p>"Cullen." You drawl slowly, pacing slowly around the living room. It rings a bell. "And the doctor?"</p><p>"She's married to his son, Emmett. Kind of, I never do know whether they're engaged or married at any point in time. Our families are… allies."</p><p>Allies? Odd choice of words… "He... seems affluent?"</p><p>She snorts. "Swimming in it." she says.</p><p>
  <em>And yet he's consorting with outlaws?</em>
</p><p>Clearwater seems to read your mind and she smiles. It's the first genuine smile you've ever seen on her, and it's so radiant you feel a subtle heat in the middle of your chest. There are those... tingles again. You frown, forcing the strange sensation away. "I wouldn't worry myself too much about the motivations of the Cullens," the smile is still on her face so you force yourself to look away, gaze out the window instead. "But believe me when I say that you're probably the <em>least</em> problematic sort they've had to deal with in the last century."</p><p>She exhales suddenly, shaking her head away as if to clear it, and then drops her gaze hesitantly back to that damned encyclopedia. That's when you finally understand. She's not reading that book, she's using it as a ruse.</p><p>She's reading you.</p><p>You cross the room in two quick strides, fling the book to the floor and drag her by the wrist to her feet. "I've been wanting to do this for days." You murmur, before your lips claim hers.  </p><p>She gasps; the sound quickly melts to a moan when your tongue slips into her mouth and you deepen the kiss. Your hand emancipates her hair from that ponytail, your other sliding across the hot silk skin underneath her borrowed sweater to stroke tenderly against her stomach. "Damon," she whimpers, the sound desperate and wanting. Your mouth skims down her neck, eliciting another squeak as you lavish her neck with a long lingering kiss, and you can't help but smirk as she shivers.</p><p>When her fingers curl into your biceps and her body melts against yours your arms wrap tightly around her, correcting the error of space between your bodies as you draw her as close as possible to you. Her heat is everywhere - everywhere. This woman… if you're not careful she'll consume you. Her skin is soft. Her mouth is hot. And wet, so fucking wet. It's been days, weeks, you still can't get the silky feel of her out of your skin.</p><p>"Fuck I want you..." You growl near her ear, smirk again when she shivers once more. But when your hardness presses against her, shooting a hot jot through both your bodies, she spoils the moment. </p><p>"Stop." Leah pushes you away shakily, taking a step away from you as she presses hesitant fingers to her lips. She looks utterly fabulous when she's flushed. "We can't jump into it like this." she says wisely, raining on your parade. "We can't be Sam and Emily."</p><p>You frown and fight the urge to sigh at the sudden distance that's sprung up between your two aching bodies. "What the hell does your ex have to do with this?"</p><p>"I just mean… You need to know exactly what this is. What it'll mean for you, being mated to me."</p><p>You feel something tug at your lips and can't stop your cheeky grin. "Mated?"</p><p>"Stop it Damon." She blushes, "I'm serious."</p><p>"Dear Lord, I hope so." You smirk. When she rolls her eyes you press a playful kiss to that bared shoulder, finally scratching your maddening itch. "Why don't we get out of here, somewhere quiet, so you can explain it to me." You don't give her a chance to change her mind. Grabbing her hand, you head for the door.</p><p>"Damon, let me warn Embr-"</p><p>"Oh go already! The man's been looking miserable for days." The tall man appears from the kitchen. A pale yellow apron is wrapped around his waist - it looks far too small for his six foot seven body - and he smiles softly at the two of you. And yet... you can still sense his reservation about you. "You!" Embry points a wooden spoon at you. "You keep her safe, or I'll castrate you."</p><p>Leah snarls. It's a short, clipped rumble that's barely audible, and yet Embry, a man almost three times her size, steps away from her and drops his gaze. "Sorry," he mutters humbly; suddenly looking submissive. He shoots her a friendly grin but bares his neck when as he looks back at her. "Just kidding." It's the oddest thing you've ever seen and it raises the creepy level of everything you've witnessed so far to ten hundred and fifteen percent.</p><p>Leah places her hand on your arm and sighs, shooting you and then Embry an apologetic look. "Once you know Damon," she says slowly, "there's no way to un-know."</p><p>The apology in her eyes, and that haunted look Embry has again, strikes you with profound unease, settling in the pit of your stomach. Your intuition's always been your greatest strength. It's never failed you before. It tells you to run; tells you than no good can come from whatever 'this' is, whatever she has to say. And yet… you <em>want</em> to know. Something about this – about her – it is important.</p><p>You nod towards the door and head in it's direction. It's a few seconds before you realize that Clearwater and Embry have not moved. "You coming or what, Clearwater?"</p><p>Embry grins, tilting his head as he regards you. "I think I like him." He says.</p><p>Leah simply smiles at him, and the love and respect she so rarely reveals shines off her face. "If there's any trouble while we're gone, run North Call. Don't fight, I mean it. I'll follow your trail. If you need to find us, we'll be in the trees." And then Leah Clearwater walks out of the door. You follow her into the unknown.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Naked</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <em>Agent: Brady Fuller.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Age: 19</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Relevance: Accomplice; Suspect.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Location: Charleston, West Virginia.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Last Official Statement: …</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Lied? What do you mean I…? I've told you everything!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Goddamn it, Leah! Always, always Leah. Every single thing comes back to her, doesn't it?</em>
</p><p><em>How many times do you need me to repeat it? Embry had nothing to do with this! He was just trying to be there for a friend. To keep an old promise. </em> <em>Typical Leah Clearwater, shows up on our doorstep, drenched in blood, sweat and gasoline, and beggs us to save the life of a wanted fugitive. I swear, Em and I didn't even know his name. We knew something was wrong, of course, but it wasn't until his face showed up on our television we realised the extent of it. I wish I could say I would have turned him away, but Mr Salvator was just so... so broken. No human being should ever have to suffer that way, so yes, we helped him.</em></p><p><em>Of course it would bite us in the ass, wouldn't it? I should have known better than to let my guard down. </em> <em>I never should have let it happen. I should have grabbed Em when I had the chance, grabbed him and gotten the hell away from her. But Embry's a bleeding heart Mr Michaelson, he cant turn his back on people -  hasn't dealt with his abandonment issues from childhood. And Leah knew he wouldn't hold out for long against the whole lost puppy attitude.</em></p><p>
  <em>And yeah we were lovers, what's that got to do with anything?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You... you think I had something to do with this?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>No. I'd never... look, sure we started living together when I was fourteen, but we didn't become involved till the night we left Washington, and that was years later. I don't resent Embry, and I never felt used by him. Life was... it was screwed on the rez, you know. Tough. We were poor and misunderstood, and gay, and don't even get me started on what it was like suddenly exploding into a massive dog. We didn't get to have parents holding our hands through the worst of it like the others. My dad's an abusive asshole and Tiff... she tried, but there's so much the other tribes aren't allowed to see. That's probably why Em and I got so close in the end... we knew what it was like, having no one else understand. And he was protective, in a really, sexy masculine kind of way. Honestly, I should have figured out much sooner how absolutely bent I was. No straight teenage boy spends that much time staring at another boy's stomach...</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I digress.... Colin. </em>
</p><p><em>Sam quit and Jake left and… fine I'll admit it, Leah was trying alright? But then Colin happened... See, I can understand that she fell apart. We all did. He was a kid. But she just... she ditched us like we meant nothing to her, when we needed her more than ever. Jake wouldn't have done that. Hell, </em>Sam <em>wouldn't have done that. She just ran and never looked back. She was supposed to be different but in the end she left Embry to pick up all the pieces. Not that the Council made it easy for him. A bastard, gay, Half-Makah in charge of the Council? They were horrible to him. Fought him every step of the way for even daring to claim what was rightfully his.</em></p><p>
  <em>And then one day we were running in the forest and... he was so tired. We reached the boundary line when he thought, 'no one will miss me when I'm gone.'</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It was the dumbest thing I'd ever heard him say. I thought he'd known already, how I felt... I thought it was obvious. But he seemed genuinely surprised when I followed him without hesitation. The idiot. As if I'd ever let him run away into the unknown without me.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>.</em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <em>(Damon)</em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <em>.</em>
</p><p>Clearwater's eyes are full of a silent dare. There is a glowing flush to her cheeks, no doubt a result of the hour-long walk through Kanahwa Forest, and her brows furrow in consternation as she waits patiently for your answer.</p><p>She is completely at home in the autumn woods. Her legs are sure as she hikes the trails, her muscles certain in their ability to carry out her every movement and there's a startling grace in the way she brushes wilting, whirling leaves from where they catch in her thick hair. It hasn't escaped your notice how hyper-aware she is of her surroundings, how alert she <em>always</em> is. But it's concentrated in this environment, you think. In the woods her vigilance is more direct, more focused.</p><p>It's probably a good thing. You're tipsy, and there should be someone sober if the two of you are going to make a habit of traipsing around populated areas without steel. Still, even with the effects of the cherry lingering in your system (everything's tilting slightly to the left) you're not fool enough to believe she's actually asking about a proposed detour from the Davis Creek trail.</p><p>Deviating from a popular trail in a woodland? Sure, why not?</p><p>Doing it in a creepy ass wood with a self-proclaimed <em>werewolf</em>? Motherfucking yikes!</p><p>"Let me guess," she smirks, "the big, bad hitman scared of a little rule-breaking with a little wolf?" when she grins you can't help but think she must have spent her entire life hiding her feelings from other people. She's doing a damn good job of hiding her nervousness, her fear of rejection. Though you can feel her trepidation as surely as you remember her memories, you can't see a hint of it in her face.</p><p>You snort, "Of what big eyes you have? Sorry to disappoint you, little red."</p><p>You would have missed her slight sigh of relief if you weren't looking for it. "Prick." She says, before tilting her face towards the paling sun and stretching her arms out behind her head. A small smile graces her face, and despite your muscles complaints and the cold bite of air currently assaulting you because of her Impromptu hike, you can't help but return it.</p><p>"That was a Little Red Riding Hood reference." You return sharply, enjoying the back-and-forth far more than you should. "Honestly Clearwater I'm starting to think <em>you're</em> the problem." </p><p>She's the one who snorts this time, and you can't help but think that you like the sound; that you're glad that for once in your life, something is easy. Except for the part where people keep trying to kill you, its actually been an interesting few weeks. She's let you <em>see</em> her - you get the feeling she rarely lets anyone share in her life - and because of it you've witnessed for yourself how intensely loyal she can be, how much her brothers trust her, how her confidence is the surefire, single-minded sort, how unrelentingly tenacious and strong she can be.</p><p>You're not much experienced about building trust with people. Cold, skeptical assassins generally don't build emotional connections with others as much as they exploit rapport with their targets, but despite your own logic you <em>want</em> things to be different with her. After all, how many people have actually known what they were getting themselves into with you and chose you regardless?</p><p>"I've never been one for fairytales, Leah." You declare suddenly, interrupting her steady pace as the world comes into focus around you. The songs of crickets chirp loudly around you, and the cool air seems to thicken with the scent of wet earth as your voice becomes quiet, intense. "I don't know how to... I don't know what you... Things rarely end with a happily ever after, in my experience. In my world."</p><p>It is unlike you to feel intimidated by anything, you are the terror in the darkness after all, but she holds your gaze, her jet black eyes intense as though she understands your your hesitation, as though she knows that it is not so much about her and the Imprint as it is about yourself. "Mine either." she admits quietly. "Come."</p><p>She pries the small bottle of cherry-blossom wine from where it hangs out of your leather jacket pocket and heads towards the stream. You follow her lead towards the freezing waters, and she jumps and hops, negotiating a dance through the thick foliage and moist earth. You're skilled in most environments and enjoy hiking just as much as she, and so it is satisfying when you land on the other side, even if your designer jeans are now ripped and clinging messily to your soaked skin.</p><p>You're pleased that she hasn't gone easy on you. There's a warm, triumphant pride in her eyes each time you push your healing body to keep up with hers, and you wonder if that's more her, or her wolf. She is more wolf than woman now, you think. Completely in tune with the forest and moving almost harmonically with the breeze. A comforting, blazing heat radiates from her skin, and for a moment you're sieged by a cruel and horrible thought; that your life will go back to a cold, barren wasteland if you reject the Imprint. And yet, you can't help but think that she deserves better. That you would be a selfish bastard to keep her tethered to you, running for the rest of her life because of your history. You're gonna die with a bullet in your heart and another in your head, you've always known it. But Leah could go on to something more. Marry a good guy. Adopt a family.</p><p>But would you survive such a separation?</p><p>Would she?</p><p>There's what happened with Sam and Emily to think about. And worse, you get the feeling that there's more to her relationship with Jacob Black than she's willing to admit. Something tells you he hurt her deeply.</p><p>"You're not afraid." Clearwater says suddenly, interrupting your train of thought. You must look confused, she continues. "Your heart." She draws her right hand to her chest, gesturing a pumping motion. "You're in a quiet wood, on a non-existent trail. No one knows who you are, or what I am, or that we're even together, except my friends. Yet it beats calm and steady as a drum." She smirks, "I have you all to myself mister... aren't you even a little afraid?" </p><p>"Not much to be scared of from what I can tell." You smirk back, wondering where the hell she's leading you.</p><p>Leah stops to take a sip of your cherry, and you can't help but stare, mesmerized by the way she draws the tip of the bottle to her lips, the way her eyes drift shut as she swallows slowly, the way sweat drips down her face, down her neck and how she greedily, slowly licks her lips...</p><p>"Oh. My. God." Leah's face breaks into a wide, taunting grin. "You're <em>completely</em> turned on right now."</p><p>You clear your throat, roll your eyes. "Get over yourself Clearwater." It's easier to turn away from her than it is to admit you're feeling a bit like a horny teenager. Unsurprisingly, there's more than a few women willing to throw themselves at a dangerous man -- especially you -- but you've been unable to stomach the idea of being intimate with anyone for a while now. Since the night Katherine told you about Elena. Maybe even before then, since...</p><p>The Imprint.</p><p>This worries you. How deeply does this bond go? And just how deeply has it sunk it's insidious hooks into you?</p><p>"I'm tired now." You grind out, moving away from her and dropping onto the nearest boulder because you want her more than you should and your growing erection is starting to hurt. You ball your hands into angry fists, glare at her like a juvenile. "I need a moment after all that trudging."</p><p>With a roll of her eyes Clearwater ignores every stretch of available land and drops happily into your lap, grinning cheekily at you and successfully drawing a hiss from your lips. You tense instinctively. She's warm... too warm. You want to wrap your arms around her, press your nose into her hair and get lost in the scent of saltwater and rosemary. You want to bury yourself in her heat and never return, there's too many fucking clothes in the -</p><p>"It's natural, you know." she says suddenly in a matter-of-fact tone. Her lips brush against your ear as she turns to you, and you almost moan at the overwhelm of her scent and skin so close.</p><p>"What is?"</p><p>"The overwhelming desire to tear off my clothes. You're... hardwired to want me now, more than anything. More than your next breath I know just how badly...." She locks your gaze with hers as she turns in your lap to thread her fingers into your smooth, raven hair. "To fuck me."</p><p>You don't give her the chance to tease you. Furiously, you grab her arms, dragging her mouth to yours with a ravenous growl like a man parched, a traveler found a well in a desert. Her warmth seeps into your skin, into muscles and bone and sinew, and you hope it'll always be like this. That kisses with Leah Clearwater will feel like standing on an island and soaking up the sun forever. Like grains of hot sand soaking happily into your toes. Right. And wholesome.</p><p>"There's too many clothes between us," You mutter into her hair as your limbs tangle with hers and the two of you fall towards the ground. You forget where you are, how exposed, how any wandering hiker might come across you in the woods, as your mouth drags across every inch her skin you can find, over her neck that stretches out like a map, full of treasures and pleasures yet undiscovered.</p><p>"Damon, this can't be..." her own moan interrupts her train of thought as your lips trail back up her neck to her ear. She writhes gently beside you as your hand presses gently against her, "You have to be sure that this..."</p><p>"Quiet."</p><p>You already know what she's about to say. Irreversible. Lifelong mates. Loss of Free Will. Maybe she's forgotten that she's already given you the memo.</p><p><em>She's wrong,</em> you think, her c<em>ousin didn't get any more of a choice in this than Sam did. </em>You know this because stopping now, leaving now, is something you don't even want to comprehend. <em>But that doesn't mean that she wanted one</em>, Leah would retort, and that's probably true too. Because you don't. You <em>want</em> this. You want Clearwater's hands tugging at your hair, you want her lips bold and demanding and messy against your collarbone. You want her sharp bursts of breath playing against your skin as she whispers your name.</p><p>"I want this." You admit.</p><p>She nods and her nose bumps against your jaw as she wraps her hands around your neck, pressing her warm body in a demand against yours. You both groan as your hardened length grinds against her thigh, sparking acute sensations of pleasure through you. And then you're both pushing and clawing at layers of clothes, tearing away denim and cotton and even a deep blue silk that proves she was hoping to get lucky.</p><p>"You have to want this too," You force yourself to disentangle your lips from hers. She tips her mouth back up to yours, her hands slipping between your bodies to cup around your cock. "Leah..." you grind out in a feral warning as she strokes a painfully slow rhythm around you. "Leah, I won't take your choice from you. Tell me to stop, and I will. I promise-"</p><p>You hiss as she interrupts your attempts at chivalry, pushing you against her entrance and enveloping the tip of your warmth with warmth. </p><p>"Shut. Up." Leah breathes, irritated , before pushing you the rest of the way in, her pussy swallowing you whole.</p><p>Her sighs turn into moans as you rock into her, building a steady pace that seeks and taunts as much as it gives. You want to take your time, you want her to beg. But she pulses throbs hot and tight around you, too tight, so that you have to remind yourself more than once that you are no longer a boy. The first time you make love to Leah Clearwater is frenzied and carnal. Her fingers press into your scarred back, etching sensations you imagine will never go away. Your teeth are as zealous on her neck, across her breasts as her hands are in your hair, over your shoulders and across your back - both of you lost in hunt as you touch as much of each other as you can.</p><p>"Mine." You declare, driven by a sudden, primal instinct to ensure she knows. "You're mine." You groan, as Leah bucks against you and moans in response. </p><p>And as you both come apart, you note vaguely that there's at least a dozen twigs in her hair.</p><p>You spend the rest of the afternoon happily removing them, and then fucking them back again.</p><p>.</p><hr/><p>.</p><p>The boys she loved before you associated her love with duplicity.</p><p>Maybe they taught her to do the same thing.</p><p>It's not something she openly confesses, but you can see the scars feeling unwanted has left on your Imprint. She blabs endlessly about the shapeshifters, about her breathtaking home near the pacific that she never visits.</p><p>She keeps reminding you that you still get a choice in this, that you don't owe her anything because the two of you had sex. Women are sexual beings too, more than capable to make decisions about their own bodies. You can still be friends, she says. Fucking friends.</p><p>You'd punch her if she wasn't a woman.</p><p>But in spite of her protestations and her jovial tone you can feel the guarded tension that's grown between you two since you two sealed the Imprint in lust. She's afraid, she's worried you're going to reject her now. And you wonder, briefly, if that's what happened with Jacob. You're really starting to hate the bastard, and you don't know a thing about him.</p><p>You wonder how long she's been doing that. Plastering Band-Aid smiles over her many, valid fears. Probably since a group of insensitive Tribal elders forced her into thinking that child endangerment, aggressive PTSD and a loss of Free Will was something worth celebrating as honorable. You close your fists, forcing yourself to ignore the sudden, overwhelming urge for violent retribution. You hate them, you truly hate them for how they failed her.</p><p>She sits with you in the booth of an understaffed bar and she smiles wryly when you nod distractedly to her never-ending tales about Taha Aki. You haven't told her yet that you're not nervous about the bond - that you're feeling rather blasé about it, to be honest, if not selfishly happy. She's a nice enough girl, if a little damaged, and the longer you think about it, the more you <em>like</em> the idea of being part of the supernatural world with her. Dangerous, sure, but you were made for the shadows after all.</p><p>It's fun being with a woman who was made for them too.</p><p>Clearwater slams her glass onto the table, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and yelling over Janis Joplin. "You can still reject it, you know." She announces loudly, again. She's a little tipsy, and you rather like it. "I mean, <em>I'll</em> probably die or whatever, but you shouldn't feel obliged to stay with me because I'm wired to sniff you before I can go to sleep."</p><p>
  <em>Is she?</em>
</p><p>"Are you?" You shoot her a wicked grin.</p><p>"Oh fuck you." She grins before downing another shot of tequila and shaking out her shoulders as heat floods her veins. She lines her seventeenth empty along the table with the others. "Honestly though," she fixes you with a serious look, "You can."</p><p>"It almost feels like you <em>want</em> me to leave." You mutter.</p><p>"A girl can dream…" she smirks cheekily, but then she's leaning across the space between you and pressing her lips to your cheek. "I guess I'll count my blessings. Seth's Imprint literally ran when she saw his wolf. Like, ran. Miss Screaming-for-the-hills." She snorts, "That's what Quil and Embry called her at every gathering."</p><p>"Lisbeth Smallwood?"</p><p>"Yup," Leah quirks her brow. "Is there really nothing you don't know about my life?"</p><p><em>What the fuck happened with you and Jacob? </em>"One or two trivial details."</p><p>"And you're not running for the hills, mister?"</p><p>"Why wouldn't a hunted hitman want a beautiful, intelligent, capable immortal who unconditionally accepts him for what he is standing by his side?"</p><p>"Touché," she lifts another shot before downing her tequila.</p><p>"How are you still standing?" You marvel, "You've been drinking for hours and you're barely buzzed." While she sniggers at you, you pause, pondering whether or not you should tell her the rest. "I've had to … discard more dead bodies of my paramours than I can count." You shoot her a quick, wry grin, unwilling to let her see just how damaged and lonely you've been. "Stick around long enough and you just might be the one running."</p><p>She frowns at you carefully before using the sudden hush as an opportunity to gesture to a passing waiter for another round of drinks. "Did you grieve them?" she asks.</p><p>"Who? Vicky and Lexi and… uh, was it Caroline? Cara- Something?" You snort a self-deprecating sound before tossing back your whiskey. "No use grieving agents. I didn't really care about them. Probably didn't even know their real names."</p><p>Clearwater looks stuck somewhere between horror and shock, still she's taking her possible future quite well, you think. She watches you curiously, dropping her cheek into her palm as Janis Joplin roars on about rock 'n roll and statutory. "You know Damon; I think you're a lot less heartless than you'd like to believe." </p><p>She's wrong, but you humor her. "You don't say…"</p><p>"I do, actually." Her gaze becomes sharp again in that way of hers that says she sees more than you'd prefer. "Tell me about her."</p><p>"About who?"</p><p>"The one that mattered. Elena."</p><p>You meet her with a resolute stare. "Nope. We're not doing that. We're not bringing up exes."</p><p>"We're going to have to talk about them eventually."</p><p>"Not after we've spent a perfectly good autumn afternoon having toe-curling, mind-numbing, unbelievable sex in the forest." Her blush is brilliant, and you can't help but feel smug satisfaction. "So let's talk about literally anything else, say, who wants you dead?"</p><p>She shrugs quickly, almost too quickly. "Not sure."</p><p>You know there's more to it, want to question her about it, but the waiter arrives and she keeps deferring and it's not long before you're both disgustingly drunk, laughing yourselves silly as she sways on the table and butchers both rock and roll and the English language. Embry's oversized shirt lies abandoned on the sofa and she's clad in cotton sweats and a sports bra as she wobbles along to the drums. </p><p>You clutch at your painful stomach. "Oh please, please  stop. You said... you said the point is that you <em>can't</em> get drunk? The fuck is this, Clearwater?"</p><p>"Shhut your pitarap." Leah shushes you, precariously maneuvering her way to the couch so she can press a wonky finger to your pink lips. "Haven't pha- phathesed in… forever. It makes me... " She bites her lips as she searches for the word, and that fucking does it. You glide your hand across hers, sliding her finger into your mouth and smirking a devilishly slow smile.</p><p>"It's unfair how your eyes do that. Damon…" she moans groggily as your tongue swirls how and sultry over her digit. It's so easy, pretending that it's her clit. Her eyes drift shut, her breath hitching as you. "God, I want ytoo..." </p><p>The husk in her voice has you coiling with tension already. Ravenous. You draw your lips to her ear and drop your voice to a growl. "You want me to what?"</p><p>Without giving her a chance to answer, you wrap your hand around her hips and drag her flush into your lap. Leah inhales sharply at your greedy touch, her eyes lustful as they follow your hands. "Make me… lose my… capa… my capabl… my memry."</p><p>You'd laugh at her inebriated state, if you weren't so turned on yourself. Her eyes trail down to your mouth, and that's all you need to skim your mouth lips against hers, hungry, teasing as she bares her neck in submission. "Damn please…" she whimpers.</p><p>"You're drunk out of your mind, Leah." You grind out into her ear, pushing away the consuming desire to fuck her into a puddle. She already has the Imprint fraying on her Free Will, you won't sear what's left of your damnable soul by taking advantage of her in this state too. "And we're in public."</p><p>"I like the idea... of piple…watchn…" She admits into your collar.</p><p>You lift a brow, "Well, well… isn't drunk Clearwater full of surprises. Noted, kitten."</p><p>She gives you a ridiculous, childish roar. "I'mma wolf."</p><p>"You're an idiot." You laugh quietly into her ear. "And I'm never letting you forget this night."</p><p>She snorts loud enough to garner the attention of a couple sitting a few booths away, and when you look into her face again she lifts her hand to brush your dark hair out of your eyes. She looks happy and ingenuous and entirely too trusting. When's the last time anyone – anyone at all – looked at you that way?</p><p>"Shit," you say, because she's going to destroy you. If you hadn't realised it before, you see it clearly now. And yet you can't stop yourself from tilting her face up towards yours, your hands suddenly more adapt at tenderness than you ever knew. "What the fuck is this?" You marvel, because it can't just be the mystical bond that makes her your toy. It feels... far more real than anything forced.</p><p>You inhale her scent shakily and it calms you instantly, clearing your head even something strange and foreign flutters in your chest. Your mouth strokes a gently flame as it teases against hers, trailing a slow, tingling pattern across the edges of her lower lip. The kisses are slow and tentative as she follows your lead, trusting implicitly your guidance without hesitation, without thought or fear, and her hands wring into your collar as she pulls you closer. Your hands search across her bared back, licking a fire across her skin as she melts like butter into your embrace. </p><p>"Damon," she says, looking intently into your eyes. Hers are slow-simmering coals, hot and passionate. "Take me home." </p><p>You think about saying no. You think about the fact that no one really knows what an Imprint is. Still you drop a few notes onto the table before dragging her out of her seat. </p><p>Leah grins. </p><p>.</p><hr/><p>.</p><p>It was all bliss until the quiet drive back.</p><p>You had Embry's car window down, and she caught the scent from a mile away, instantly freaking out. Her wolf wanted you far away from the wretched smell as soon as possible, but her woman didn't want the two of you separated with the bounty on your head. You hadn't realized until then that you had become more sensitive to the supernatural, that Leah's DNA was mutating in your system.</p><p>She took you along, towards Embry and Brady's, to where the scent of the vampire had grown strong enough to burn your throat, but not strong enough to mask the scent of all the blood.</p><p>Leah ran out of the car first, stumbling half-blindly towards the man lying lifelessly on the front lawn. "Embry!" she screamed, arms flinging out towards the unmoving body. You stood there in shock, slightly nauseated by how many shattered bones seemed to be piercing through his bloody, broken skin. "Embry, please!" Leah cried, gently holding the man's face as she wept.</p><p>You'd never felt so helpless in your life.</p><p>"Leah, go…" The sound seemed to come from nowhere. Piercing the silence that had flooded the area as Embry fought through a thick haze of pain and exhaustion to warn you both to run. "Get him… Brady… go."</p><p>"I told you to run!" Leah screamed back, half-out of her mind. Inconsolable. "I told you to go."</p><p>And that was when you felt it. Like needles prickling at the back of your neck.</p><p>It was <em>staring</em> at you.</p><p>Hunting.</p><p>.</p><hr/><p>.</p><p> </p><p>"Well, well, well, if it isn't my lucky day. I've found the lost Salvator brother..." The blond woman smiles coldly, managing to make a British accent sound annoying as she meticulously cleans out her fingernails. "We've been looking all over for you, you and your five million dollar whore."</p><p>Perhaps Rebekah Michaelson has been wearing contacts over her eyes for years,  maybe that is why you never noticed the crimson shade before, but how have you never noticed the slimy, pale stretch of her skin? She has always been pretty -- in a sad, desperate unacknowledged daddy-issues kind of way -- but that's no excuse for not paying attention to the ghastly white porcelain tone to her skin and the hollowed out look to her body. Nothing but paper and bones. And that god-awful smell...</p><p><em>She's so still</em>, you think, <em>why is she so still?</em> It takes a short while to realise that she's not breathing.</p><p>But the moment you do a blur of grey cuts suddenly across your vision.</p><p>You watch in horror and awe as a grey wolf rips her head clean off, and silver blood sprays out from her neck.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Conscious</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Name: Emily Uley</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Age: 27</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Location: Forks, Washington</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Relevance: Voluntary Character Witness</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Last Official Statement: …</em>
</p><p>
  <em>There must be some kind of mistake. My sister would never, ever do something like that. She's simply not capable of it. And to Embry of all people? No. He's like a brother to her, to all of us.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I've heard the statements made, and I know what Brady said. I also know that he's grieving. God only knows what I would do if someone ever hurt Sam. But my sister is too loyal and protective to harm an innocent soul, least of all someone she considers a dear friend. Whatever she's got going on with Salvator, she's not bloodthirsty or ruthless enough to want Embry dead. At least, the Leah I knew wouldn't have been capable of it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But then again, she has changed. A lot of things have changed since the last time I saw her. We're not as close as we used to be, a good thing I think –- you can't imagine what it was like having to grow up with her. Living in her immaculate swanlike shadow. I was the ugly duckling, you know? Constantly trying to hold up against the perfect Leah Clearwater Standard…. And always failing in comparison.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It didn't get any better after Sam and I got together. I thought it would, at first. I was naïve enough to think that for once something was working in my favour. That true, magical love existed. That for once, I was someone's first choice. Not Sam's, no of course not, but Fate's nonetheless.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>In the end, she didn't even let me have that.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I'm never going to forgive her for what she did.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Not that it matters now. I won't let aunt Sue suffer anymore, Mr Michaelson. She has very little time left and she deserves some peace with her last fragile breath. And that's why I'm here. She asked me to make this statement, and I agreed because I do think Leah is innocent of this crime, though I don't think she's innocent of much else.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>My cousin did not kill Embry Call; I am certain of it. But whoever did, </em>
  <em>them</em>
  <em> she will kill. Leah is headstrong, and dangerous and right now, someone is a threat to her entire family. Someone has hurt them. So she will not stop, not rest, until they are dead justice is served. And if what you claim is true and she's made nice with a dangerous ex CIA officer, then I can promise you that Embry's murderers don't have much time left at all.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>.</em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <em>(Leah)</em>
</p><hr/><p>.</p><p>"Leah."</p><p>"No."</p><p>Damon snatches a frustrated breath, running his fingers carelessly through his dark hair as he glares in your direction. "It's been days. You need to eat something." He says.</p><p>He doesn't give you a chance to refuse him, instead he drops a small white box of cold, stale Chinese food into your lap.</p><p>With a sigh you pound your head hard against the stiff, wooden cart packed tightly behind your body. It's dusty in here, the smell of old dirt and rot clings to every inch of the small yellow freight train travelling in the early hours of the morning, but you barely notice the stench with the scenes of Embry and Colin's wrecked, bloodied bodies vying for attention in your throbbing head.</p><p>"I'm not very hungry." You already know he's going to argue, and so you add. "I am currently operating at full strength, Raven. Let that set your hitman's mind at ease."</p><p>You don't need to spy him out to know that your attempts at lightness have not worked. Damon's face remains expressionless (he hardly ever wears his emotions openly) but your instincts are sharp enough since your phase that you can make out the subtle shifts in his scent that mark his different emotions.</p><p>He is <em>worried</em> about you.</p><p><em>How worried?</em> You're not quite sure.</p><p>"Leah, it's been days, and you've been developing a fever since your phase. Your first in four years. Nothing in the world would please me more that if you ate something." You open your eyes slightly, enough to catch his wicked, playful smile. "Pretty please?" he says innocently, cupping his hands together in petition.</p><p>
  <em>Worried enough to manipulate the Imprint, apparently.</em>
</p><p>"You're an asshole." You retort in an effort to tease, but grief and exhaustion taint your every word, and you sound glum and miserable instead.</p><p>"You've mispronounced Godly, Eternal Stud." Damon smirks, seemingly having not noticed your sorrow, and you could kiss him, really, for knowing that a soft, compassionate touch is not what you need right now.</p><p>He crouches beside you, managing to maintain his balance despite the bumpy, grueling course of the train in the dark and the mountainous cargo caught in a violent, frenzied dance. "You're wrong though. You are not currently operating at full capacity. You're overwhelmed, fatigued and upset. And since I've never had to track down and murder a supernatural creature bent on killing my mate before, I'm going to need your help to figure out how they found us."</p><p>"I've already told you Damon, I don't know. I was careful, very careful - Shapeshifters are very good at hiding. I made sure I wasn't followed."</p><p>"All that tells me is that you were betrayed by someone who knew where you were hiding then." His eyes grow dark, unreadable. "Somehow, someone slipped, Leah. Rebekah found us, which means <em>Niklaus</em> found us and we're completely naked. No assistance. No technical or personal support, which is a shitty place to be at while we're being hunted. So you need to think really hard about it. Who's behind this? You must have an idea by now, don't tell me that you don't."</p><p>With a sigh, you digs one of your cold dumplings out of the box with your fingers and take a large, unenthusiastic bite. "I can't be sure."</p><p>"Names, Leah." He grinds out rather impatiently.</p><p>"Emily Young. The Cullens. The Volturi."</p><p>You catch a brief flicker of surprise cross his face at the last name. Damon crosses his arm, looking every bit like the dangerous, brooding men your cousin read about in her many, many <em>Mills and Boon</em> Novels.</p><p>"And how, pray tell, have you made yourself an enemy to one of the most powerful families in Europe?"</p><p>"My pack united with some Vampires a few years ago, when the Volturi tried to kill Jacob's Imprint. We resolved the matter peacefully, but their clan was embarrassed by the entire affair, according to Rose they're something like Vampire royalty, and they lost face badly that day. Four years ago two of their members staged a rogue attack on our cubs without their Leader's permission…." You feel the fury well up inside of you all over again as you remember what happened, clench your fists as you recall what those leeches did to Brady, what they did to Colin. "They didn't live to tell the tale."</p><p>It is the serious look on Damon's face, the quiet way he observes you that forces you to release the breath you didn't even realize you'd been holding. "That was the last I heard of them, but it's possible they're out for revenge."</p><p>Damon takes a moment, his eyes burning. "You mentioned the Cullens?"</p><p>"Jacob's Imprint, to be specific. I don't for a second believe Rosalie had anything to do with this."</p><p>He makes a face, confused. "I thought you said you stood with Jacob's Imprint against the Volturi?"</p><p>"I did." You say glumly, not really wanting to go into it. "Look, the Cullens are a long conversation I don't have the strength for right now, okay?"</p><p>Another time, you know he would press further, but he watches you carefully, and whatever he finds in your face compels him to nod instead. Damon drops beside you, wrapping a warm arm around your shoulders as your mind whirls with possibilities.</p><p>Who would go through so much trouble as to orchestrate all of this? They'd have to hate you, really hate you enough to want you dead, to order someone to murder Embry, and the only person who dislikes you enough to fit that description might be your cousin. But your cousin liked Em, not to mention she doesn't have access to that kind of money, or power, and that makes you think that maybe the Volturi are more likely to be the culprits. Only someone very powerful could sway the FBI to release information about an ex CIA agent, potentially blowing the covers of other agents who have worked with your Imprint in the field.</p><p>And yet… the Cullens were the last to see you alive before the attack on Embry's Cabin. They were the only ones who knew exactly where you were. Rosalie would never betray you, she cut all ties to Renesmee and the halfling's parents after what happened with Jacob, but you know that the doctor still considers Edward something like a son. Maybe he let a word slip, or a thought.</p><p>"Leah?" Damon's fluid, sultry drawl disturbs your thoughts. "What are you thinking?"</p><p>"That it's my fault. We just left his body there." You whisper into the darkness and hear him sigh, but before he can offer you some trite words of apology you fix him with a piercing look. "He was my brother, Damon. My Second, and we just left his body there."</p><p>"Elijah was on our trail."</p><p>You shake your head. "It's no excuse." The heaviness you've been battling for days is finally unleashed on your soul. "I should have been there, for my brothers when they needed me most." <em>Not</em><em> placing the desire to please my Imprint above the responsibility to protect my pack. Like Sam.</em></p><p>
  <em>Like Jacob.</em>
</p><p>Damon's free hand trails up your neck and cups your cheek, and he presses a delicate kiss to your lips. It is easy then to drop your head onto his shoulder and give in to your grief then. An inaudible sob escapes you, and his palm is hot and comforting as it rubs smooth, warm circles across your back.</p><p>"I'm sorry Leah," he whispers into your hair as you soak his shirt in regretful tears. "I'm sorry."</p><p>He says the words as though they're enough to keep the monsters away. For a moment you close your eyes and pretend that they are.</p><p>.</p><hr/><p>.</p><p>"Christ Salvator, is this really necessary?"</p><p>"Unfortunately, yes." Damon strolls into the motel room with a towel wrapped around his wet body and a ridiculous goatee that's only half as convincing as his ruffled, blond haircut.</p><p>He doesn't look too bad, not really, but it's hard to take any man wearing fake buckteeth and a blond goatee seriously. "Damon, you look ridiculous." You grin.</p><p>"Honey, you're the last person to call anyone else ridiculous-looking right now." He looks over your outfit unappreciatively and you turn back to the small mirror with a groan. As you refused to chop your hair, he's forced you to wear a bright, rather unconvincing red wig and dark eye make-up since you both arrived in Michigan.</p><p>"You're the one that picked these ridiculous disguises!" You complain.</p><p>"Speak for yourself, sweetheart." He prowls to your side, flicking his flappy, badly-dyed hair out of his piercingly pale blue eyes. "I look like a bombshell."</p><p>You snort, but before you can retort he's hauled you suddenly into his arms, pecking horrible buck-teethed kisses all over your face. You swat at him, but only half-heartedly. These moments of joy are rare and short in between, and you've learned to enjoy them while they last.</p><p>Plus his kisses are soft and playful and you like it when he's being relentless.</p><p>"Gods, stop!" You grin, enveloped by your Imprints intoxicating scent.</p><p>You're feeling a bit foolish, to be honest, even though there's so many things to do today. There's disguises to don, things to find out, FBI agents to avoid, civilians to manipulate and information to plant, but being in Damon's arms is rather heady stuff, and you kind of just wish you could stay here forever. Unbothered about it all. It doesn't help that his warm, olive flesh is brushing against your bare skin either, sending electricity throughout your body.</p><p>"You're getting a very dirty look in your eyes, Leah Clearwater." He comments slyly. "Need I remind you to control your thoughts?"</p><p>"My thoughts are perfectly under control, thank you very much."</p><p>You smile slowly as your hands spread out over the skin of his shoulders, reveling in the feel of him flush against you. His eyes grow dark and as usual you feel slightly intimidated being pinned by that intense, scrutinizing gaze.</p><p>You know that it consumes him, the Imprint, as surely as it devours you. It smolders between you, scorches like the heat hidden deep in the earth, or in the coals that seem a dead grey on the outside, but inside house a powerful flame.</p><p>He has had very few people to care about in his life. That is the case with most Imprints. They are usually lonely and in need of family, of companionship, and perhaps this is the reason he's lived his life so completely in the moment till now, never affording himself too much time to think about anything other than his kills and saving his brother. Perhaps that is why his affections are so ardent and passionate. Perhaps he worries that your devotion to him if fleeting.</p><p>The opposite might also be true. After all, Damon is very intuitive, so perhaps he can feel the permanence of the Imprint, and maybe the certainty of it worries him. Perhaps the sudden care and responsibility he feels towards you is too much for him. After all he was a free man, running amok and doing whatever he wanted whenever he wanted and now he is being forced to survive like a fugitive, living like a criminal hunted by wild dogs and forced to take you with.</p><p>"You're over thinking again." He frowns. "What's the matter?"</p><p>You shake your head. "Nothing. Where are we going tonight?"</p><p>"We both have very important friends to meet today.</p><p>Frowning, you search his face. "I thought you were here to meet one of your old contacts? To get a feeler out about why we're currently considered two of America's Most Wanted criminals?"</p><p>"That too…." He hesitates, but then his mouth breaks into a charming smile and you're instantly suspicious. "It's just that you have an old friend in the area, and I thought that perhaps we could use this as an opportunity to cut a loose end."</p><p>"What do you mean?"</p><p>"We need to be absolutely sure that Brady wasn't involved with…" he trails off, and you wonder when he started reading you so well. Every reminder of what happened to Embry still dampens your mood and sends sharp stabbing pains through your chest. Now, however, his words simply make you furious.</p><p>"He wasn't involved!" You explode, and to his credit, he doesn't flinch.</p><p>"I don't think he was either." Damon says calmly, "But you mentioned Young as suspect, and we need to find out if Brady let the pack know you were with him and Embry. If he did then we can assume that Young knew of our whereabouts."</p><p>You nod, understanding. "What friend of mine do I need to talk to? I don't have any friends in…" The world suddenly goes quiet. Cold as understanding. "No." you bark, furious once more.</p><p>"Leah, darling," Damon whines with a wry smile, "Hear me out."</p><p>You shake your head. "You don't know what you're asking me to do Damon. He's going to skin me alive. It's one of his favourite pastimes. And I don't want to put anyone else in danger by getting close to him anyway. I can't -"</p><p>"Leah," The Prince of Darkness palms your hand, kissing it twice in quick succession. "I give you my word that I will personally ensure that he is protected."</p><p>You scowl at your mate, but he is undeterred.</p><p>"Don't you trust me? I swear if anything happens to him I'll even let you kill me." He finally says with a grave expression. "I'll hand you the shovel myself."</p><p>He shoots you the single most innocent, angelic smile you've ever seen on a man's face, and that's how you know you're in trouble.</p><p>.</p><hr/><p>.</p><p>The dark-haired man glances up suddenly, a look of shock streaking across his pointy features as he pours whiskey into a glass.</p><p>He laughs. It is a loud, slow mocking sound that grates against your steadily waning patience. "Oh ho ho! You've got balls showing your face around here, Clearwater!"</p><p>God, it's been four years of growth and evolution for most, but Paul fucking Lahote is still the same annoying, vulgar, dick-swinging idiot he was back in Forks.</p><p>"What has a sweet, law-abiding citizen like myself done to deserve such a horrible, waste of an encounter with Fork's most infamous pack-murderer Leah <em>Bitchwater</em>."</p><p>
  <em>Off to a good start, then.</em>
</p><p>"Lahote." You spit in response.</p><p>Your former packmate drags his drink off the counter and swaggers across the short distance between you two swiftly. He still walks like he's trying to swing his dick around, and judging by the amused smirk he wears he probably thinks his little performance is effective. "It wasn't enough to get Jacob's right hand man, was it? Come to finish off the rest of us too?"</p><p>For a moment, you contemplate phasing right there, tearing across his office and ripping him out of human memory, but that's probably the exact reaction he's looking for. You <em>know</em> Paul, you understand him better than anyone else in both Packs ever did. Because Paul is you. Or rather, he's exactly who you were, back when you thought that everything bad in the world - from dad's death to Sam fucking Emily – was your fault.</p><p>You take him in. He's dressed in a wife beater and floral shorts, and open sandals grace his feet. His dark, handsome face is still the same as it was when you last saw him, a sign that he still phases regularly, but there's something lost in his eyes. Something missing.</p><p>"Dear Gods Lahote, it's mid-autumn and you live right next to the lake. The least you could do is <em>pretend</em> that you're human."</p><p>Paul merely glares at you. It's a moment before the unreadable intensity of his face suddenly breaks into a warm grin. His hands grab your shoulders, shove you into his arms, and trap you in the largest bear hug you've felt in years.</p><p>"I'm furious with you." He whispers into your hair, wrapping his arms even tighter around you. "Fucking, crazy furious. I could slap you I'm so mad."</p><p>"We don't condone that kind of behaviour here." Damon's voice cuts through the moment, and you glance up at him to see his eyes like sharp knives on Paul.</p><p>Paul's grip on you loosens, but he does not let you go as his eyes move swiftly from your Imprints to yours. "Well, if I'll be damned. Leah's not lesbian after all."</p><p>You punch him hard in the bicep, and he scowls as he rubs his arm. Paul crosses the distance between the two of you and Damon, offering his hand to your Imprint.</p><p>"I'll take it you're the reason behind all this madness."</p><p>Damon simply watches the other man's outstretched hand with eyes that are cold and indiscernible. When it becomes clear that he is not going to shake Paul's hand you clear your throat, sitting on the nearest desk you can find as Paul looks your Imprint over in amusement. "Paul…" you begin.</p><p>"You're an extortioner." Damon suddenly drawls dryly, glaring at Paul.</p><p>"Please, please…" Paul grins at him before taking a long gulp of his drink. "I prefer the term 'loan shark.'"</p><p>Your brother flashes one of his galling, toothy grins before heading back behind his table. "Nothing as impressive as you though."</p><p>On his table rests a small, red radio and he flicks one of the buttons on it, so that the otherwise empty office is suddenly filled with static and a deep, narrating voice.</p><p>
  <em>"The suspects in question are 5 foot 9 Caucasian male with dark hair and pale blue eyes, and a 5 foot 7 Native-American female with dark features. Anyone with information pertaining to the whereabouts of these two is urged to contact local authorities immediately. The suspects are considered armed and highly dange -"</em>
</p><p>"A rather glowing recommendation," Damon smirks flippantly, "However they did get my height wrong…"</p><p>"I guess it's kind of obvious then, why you're here" Paul says, his dark eyes staring into yours now. "But before I answer any of your questions, please, indulge one of mine."</p><p>Damon frowns.</p><p>"So, was it true?" Paul stares at you intently. "Did you do it?"</p><p>"Was what true?" Damon asks, eyes shifting searchingly from Paul to you. "Did she do what?"</p><p>"- cause that would be pretty low, Leah. Even for you."</p><p>"Wait, what'd I miss?" Damon asks again.</p><p>You stare right back at your brother, ignoring your Imprint's questions, "Mind your business, Lahote."</p><p>"I always do," Paul admits as he sits, and you watch the misleading casualness of his movements. He's a lot like Damon in that way, you think. There's always a cavalier nonchalance to their movements that belies their deadliness and precision. "You however, didn't mind your virtue, little Lee Lee."</p><p>You shoot Paul a warning glance, hoping to quell him before he stumbles out something that'll make Damon ask even more questions. You're not ready to talk about that stuff yet. So many years have passed, there's so much you've experienced since, yet still a deep, overwhelming shame grips you at the mere thought of what happened. Of what you did.</p><p>"Jacob abandoned you, after all, and weren't you two trying against all odds to have kids? That must have hurt like a fucker."</p><p>"Paul." You warn.</p><p>"And then Colin died in your arms, hell <em>Brady</em> almost died, and you were the one that assigned them that patrol, weren't you? So in a way, it was your fault when the cub died."</p><p>Vaguely, you register that Damon has stepped closer to the two of you in a territorial gesture, as though to confront your brother, protect you from his sudden assault, and that there is a terribly menacing growl growing louder like thunder in the room with each of his taunts.</p><p>"And then there was your little speech at Emily's wedding. One no one would ever want a repeat of. So, did you do it? I never believed it, but Emily did. Emily always believed it no matter what Sam said to the contrary. Put a damper on their honeymoon, as I'm sure you can imagine. So, did you do it? Did you really fuck Sam on the Eve of their wedding just to prove that the Imprint philosophy wasn't shit? Cause Honestly Leah, Rach and I could have told you that."</p><p>There it is again, that hollowness you noticed in his eyes earlier, but there's something else in his words. Something that <em>gnaws</em> at you. And yet a crimson hue washes over your field of vision as your newly unhinged wolf detects the attack in his words. Your body tenses instinctively, ready to leap forward and destroy whatever's left of Paul fucking Lahote, but suddenly Damon's standing in front of you, teeth bared against the other wolf. His hands are cool and loving as they stroke gently down your arms, calming your wolf.</p><p>"This was a mistake." Your Imprint says gently. For a moment you look away from him, terrified that all you'll find in his eyes are disgust and rage after Paul's accusations, but there's not a hint of judgement in his voice. "We can figure out who's responsible for Embry's death some other way, Leah. Let's get out of here."</p><p>Still in a state of shock, you allow your Imprint to lead you to the door. It is only once the two of you have reached it that Paul finally interrupts the silence.</p><p>"You've betrayed a lot of people to get your happily ever after Leah. And now you're happy, moved on with a true mate of your own, opening studios and showcasing artworks about your torrid affair with Jacob in some of the most prestigious galleries in the world. What did you think was going to happen? Did you really think that those who've spent years in the shadows were just going to get over the projected memories of how they were never going to be enough while you moved on? It's been seven years, Lee. More than enough time to think about it. You should know know better than that by now."</p><p>And suddenly, you <em>know</em>. You <em>know</em> who wants you dead. But your sharp inhalation is cut off by Damon's furious growl.</p><p>"Talk to her again you son of a bitch!" Your Imprint roars at Paul, shaking in protective fury. "You even look in her direction and I'll put a silver bullet in your brain." And then Damon glares at your brother once more before grabbing your wrist and storming out towards the uninhabited parking lot.</p><p>You could have sworn you saw Paul smirk in approval as you both left his office, but you can't be sure.</p>
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